Lights Will Guide You Home
by CailinNollaig
Summary: She's four years old. Big brown eyes, a mouth that never stops moving and a goofy smile confront his every glance; she's them. She's Finn and Rachel - and suddenly, in a flash of destruction, she's theirs.
1. I: Flowers in the Window

_Hi all, so this is my first Glee fic. Hopefully you'll like it! It's a little different from what I usually write (Harry Potter, OTH, the occasional unpublished Criminal Minds) but for a while now I've been dying to get into the world of Glee fanfiction so here I am! No mistakes about it, this one will be a helluva ride and angsty to the ninth degree. WOO. Anyways, don't own Glee, enjoy :) Chapter title belongs to Travis!  
><em>

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><p><strong><em>Lights Will Guide You Home<em>**

Chapter One: Flowers in the Window

Sam _almost_ skipped his way down the familiar road to the Hudson house. He always felt better when going to his best friends house, it was just natural. He could be himself with no questions asked, and rant and rave about whatever had put a bee in his bonnet that week. Generally though, Sam was rather laid-back, and so his rants were usually limited to trivial matters such as repeats of Star Trek and the new Spider-Man movie. Yes, another one. Sam thought it was quite taking away from the masterpiece that was the last modern one, but no matter.

He always had to digress on that matter.

Shaking his head, Sam returned to the present world and looked up at the grand house that belonged to his friends. Granted, it was mostly due to Rachel and all her hard work in making it to Broadway and featuring on the soundtrack of some movies, but Finn deserved it just as much. He was a remarkably good teacher and coach for high school students; not unlike their own former teacher Mr. Schue. Sam frowned; it had been a long time since had had spoken to or thought of his old mentor.

Once again clearing his thoughts, Sam rooted around in his pocket for a moment before he found the key to their house. They often didn't hear the bell, and he was family enough to have a copy of the key.

"Finn! Rachel!" He called out, wondering where they were. He had told them he was coming over - he always did every second Friday. Sam glanced around, all the while considering the fact that they couldn't have forgotten. After all, he was pretty sure it was the highlight of their week.

"Saammyy!" A little voice sounded out, and charged at him at full speed. He barely had time to ready himself for the eventual collision.

Little Brooke Hudson clung to his leg tightly, wearing only her vest and underwear. He laughed as she was clearly causing trouble again. "I've missed you!"

"Brooklyn Barbara! Get back here young lady.." He heard Rachel demand, now coming into his line of vision as she ran down the stairs. The girl in question swiftly released her hold on his leg and made a bee-line for the sitting room. He sent an exhausted looking Rachel a sympathetic, but amused, grin.

"She giving you a hard time?"

She blew an errant hair out of her face, "You have no idea. _I _have no idea where she gets this from - this streak of rebellion! God knows neither of her parents were. Her father is currently hiding somewhere so he doesn't have to deal with her - coward. She's only four, but I'm telling you Sam, she's some wild card. Of course, this could have all been avoided had I just denied her those packet of sour jellies after dinner.. Goodness knows she's always wired after them and -"

"Rachel, I get it.. Let me help you. She listens to me," He flashed her a giant smile at that, and went to get the girl. "Brooke? Brooke come on, I'll tell you a story if you promise to get ready for bed with your Mom."

A small head poked out from behind the couch, eyebrows raised in interest and curiosity written on her face. Her slender and upturned nose - not unlike Finn's - was scrunched up, partially hiding the scatter of freckles that ran across her nose and cheeks. She had large, deep brown eyes and lips that were identical to her mothers. Brown eyes that held a mischievous and curious sparkle that Sam always found a sign on how happy the child was - and intelligent, too.

"The one with Chowbaccy?" She questioned, narrowing her eyes. She was not to be deceived. Not this time.

He winced slightly, "_Chewbacca_, Brookie Cookie. And yes, now come on." Following the promise, Brooke happily complied and ran out to her awaiting mother. Rachel rolled her eyes at Sam and childishly began to stick her tongue out before realising just how childish it was, and laughed instead.

"Let's go find your Daddy, ladybug. I believe he was searching for the monster under your bed when we left him."

She held her hands up to her mouth in horror, her eyes widening, "I hoped he didn't get eatened!" Tears looked likely, and so Rachel rushed to respond.

"Don't be silly, Daddy always wins the bad guys."

Brooke, comforted by this and seeing no fault in her mothers words, smiled happily and went with her Mom and godfather to find her Daddy.

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><p>The television filled the silence nicely as the two men relaxed after a hard days work, in addition to getting into the weekend mode of chilling. That was mostly on Sam's part though, as he actually got time to chill, whereas Finn's days were filled with his daughter and wife - which he loved. Sam could understand that though, sometimes he wished he was married off with kids, but other times, he remembered why he wasn't. Despite that, he had a girlfriend with whom he was engaged - but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'fiance', and furthermore, he couldn't seem to think about setting dates yet. Accepting her proposal may not have been the wisest decision he had ever made, but it wasn't like he <em>regretted <em>it.

Yes, she had proposed - Finn had great fun exclaiming about how she wore the trousers. Sam had always had a weak spot for those feminists; it was his masochistic side, he liked to think.

He was joking, of course. Who didn't love a strong and confident woman?

"Sometimes I think we've been too easy on Brooke." Finn broke the comfortable silence, not sparing a look at his friend, but instead keeping his eyes on the screen.

Sam's eyes flickered to him, but went back to the television before replying, "You've been loving and supportive of your child while setting boundaries. Don't ever think that you and Rachel aren't great parents."

The conversation was bordering on unmanly, emotional territory and so both men then coughed, "Catch the game the other night?" Finn asked.

He groaned, "No, but I heard it was great. Dina insisted we go out for dinner as an anniversary thing.."

Finn choked on his beer, and promptly began laughing hard, "You're not even together a year to have an anniversary. Seriously dude, why are you marrying this chick?"

He shot his friend an irritated glance, "Rachel celebrated every _moment. _Wasn't there a picnic in the park for the first time you held hands in public? Not to mention month-a-versaries." That settled the argument and they fell back into silence, Sam feeling rather satisfied.

"Our anniversary is Sunday actually," Finn announced, "Taking her to this French restaurant and hopefully back for a night of the Finnster."

"Dude, the 'Finnster' wasn't cool in college, and it still isn't cool now. I hope you don't tell your students to call you that… Anyway, I wouldn't mind babysitting Brooke if you need me to?"

He shook his head, choosing to ignore the first comment, "Thanks, but Quinn already offered. Don't look so disappointed, I'd be more than happy to let you take her another weekend!"

Rachel chose that moment to enter the room, chuckling at her husband, "He's lying. He spends the entire time worrying about her when she's not there - I got over that once it become one night out a month."

"Well, any time you need me guys, I'm available," He offered, giving them both supportive smiles. Rachel then excused herself to go over to her friends, having made a previous arrangement with Finn so that they both got nights out with her respective friends once every two weeks. It was usually Quinn she stayed with, but sometimes a friend from stage. Finn always asked Sam around as he was his best friend, even though he made some good friends among the faculty at his school.

He and Sam's friendship blossomed following them both enrolling in Ohio State University. They did different courses, but being the only people on campus that each other knew, they hung out together on nights out and quickly became great friends. Soon after graduating, the two of them escaped Ohio to New York, and hadn't looked back since.

Sam turned to Finn, "It's great how both Rachel and Brooke prefer me to you…" A handful of chips was promptly thrown at him and both men laughed heartily, knowing that both of Finn's girls adored him.

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><p><em>Well, that's it for now folks! No worries, generally I write quite long chapters! This'll be a RachelFinn, Quinn/Sam, and some Kurt fic. I've a few chapters done already, so I may roll out the next chapter later today._

_Reviews are loved :)_  
><em>xCNx<em>


	2. II: Just Try To Never Grow Up

_I do now own Glee, nor do I own "Never Grow Up", which belongs to Taylor Swift. Enjoy!_

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><p><span>Chapter Two: Just Try to Never Grow Up<span>

_Your little hands wrapped around my finger_  
><em>And it's so quiet in the world tonight<em>  
><em>Your little eyelids flutter 'cause you're dreaming<em>  
><em>So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light<em>

_To you, everything's funny_  
><em>You got nothing to regret<em>  
><em>I'd give all I have, honey<em>  
><em>If you could stay like that<br>- "Never Grow Up". _

"I don't understand how someone hasn't snapped you up and made an honest woman out of you yet,"

She laughed lightly, fixing the bandages around his chest. "Oh Harry, you do know how to flatter a girl." The old man gave her a smile, his eyes crinkling softly with the action, drawing her to his clear blue eyes. She smiled sadly; his eyes were so full of youth, and yet, age had robbed him of most everything else. She had come to conclude in her years working as a nurse, that age and time were the biggest robbers of all. Eventually, they could take everything from dignity to sanity to mobility from a person, not to mention loved ones and friendships. Quinn shook her head - it was never good to dwell on matters like those for long.

"Have you been sneaking whiskey in again?" She asked him, eyebrow raised. She was sure she could smell it off of the man.

He copied her action with his eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"

"Harry James… Hand it over," She held out her hand to him expectantly. He picked it up and kissed it lightly. She struggled to maintain a strict expression and not laugh, "Come on,"

He sighed, and slid a bag out from under his bed, "Fine. Take all of my relaxation away."

"That's what the pills are for." she quipped, taking the bottle away. He shrugged nonchalantly, giving her a wink with those startling blues of his. He would have been a good-looking man in his youth, she always thought. He had had fair hair, sallow skin and blue eyes that looked as if the sun found its sparkle in them. His face was worn now; with all the signs of a good life around his eyes, and yet, giveaways of hard times engrained into his forehead.

Besides his physical appearance, he was charming and chatty - which was always welcome. He was by far her favourite patient, which was why she may have paid more attention to him than she should have, but every nurse had their favourites. It was expected. They were trained to maintain emotional detachment, but Quinn was finding it increasingly difficult with this patient.

"How was that date with the young fellow from the other ward? Tom? Was that his name?"

"Tim," she corrected, now adjusting his pillows and bed. "Oh, he wasn't very charming. I think I got two words in and that was about it. I do know his life story now though.. It's not very tragic, and not half as exciting as he thinks."

The old man laughed a little, "Ah, he wasn't good enough anyways. He's always making sly remarks. For a doctor, he's not very clever." Quinn nodded fervently; she sure had to agree with him there.

"Now get some rest Mr. James, you know you've another big operation coming up." He waved her away, believing he was too manly and strong for that kind of carry on, and she moved to the next patient. Glancing at her watch, Quinn saw she was off in ten minutes, and she had to get home in time. She was lucky enough to be babysitting on a Sunday night. She wasn't even meant to be in work today, but was asked to cover for a friend, and couldn't bring herself to decline. Her friend was pregnant, so she felt somehow obliged to be extra nice to her - even if she was somewhat jealous of her friends expectancy.

Quinn hadn't even got a boyfriend. She wasn't going to have a family for a long time. Although, every time someone asked if she had any children, Quinn's mind screamed at her. _Yes, yes you have a child! Beth, say Beth.. You have a daughter named Beth!_

Quinn pushed her thoughts to the side and approached the next bed, "And how are we feeling today Ms. Gogan? I hope your throat has cleared up a little?"

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><p>Her apartment wasn't flashy, nor was it quaint, but it was exactly what Quinn wanted. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room; not too big, and not too small. She was able to store all of her clothes in her spare room and keep her bedroom clean, which was Quinn's favourite part of having a spare room. Also, it came in handy when friends came to stay, and would also be where her goddaughter would sleep tonight. Quinn quickly punctured holes in the top of a packet of quick-make lasagne and put it into the microwave for several minutes. After, she got changed into more casual clothes, tossing her uniform into the wash.<p>

Sitting down with her dinner, she sighed. Glancing around the room, Quinn wondered how she was going to occupy her little hell-raiser tonight. One of Quinn's old disney favourites would work for later on in the night, but until then, she had to keep the girl's attention also. Her eyes landed on the kitchen, and she raised her eyebrows in thought, perhaps they could bake?

Or would she be setting herself up for disaster?

She had little more time to contemplate this, as the doorbell rang incessantly. Quinn smiled despite herself; that was most definitely Brooke. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" She shouted, laughing.

The blonde opened the door and the little girl fell in, hugging Quinn tightly with a large grin across her face, "Quinnie, I can't wait for our sleepover!"

"Well you're here now, let's get it started!" She scooped the four-year-old up into her arms, "But first - I want a proper hug, and a kiss," She happily complied, and then ran into the sitting room to lay out the dolls she brought on the coffee table. Quinn turned to Finn, who had been the one to drop her off, "We'll be just fine."

"That's what you think," He joked. "Rachel is still getting ready, but thank you from the both of us. It's not often we get out!"

"It's your anniversary, go enjoy yourself. And anytime," She smiled politely.

He chuckled, "Careful what you say, Fabray. I could hold you to that." He handed Quinn a bag with Brooke's things, and then began to back away. "Thanks again, and we'll pick her up tomorrow at around two. That okay?"

"That'd be great," Quinn nodded and bid goodbye to her old friend. She and Finn weren't exactly close; she was closer to Rachel, but they were friends at the least. Not in the sense that they would go out together and do things alone, but that they could carry a conversation without pause or awkwardness no matter where they were.

"Oh, you brought your dolls," She announced, surveying the large range of Barbie's and princesses that the girl had lain out. "Do I get to pick which one I can play with this time?"

Brooke looked to be contemplating the request for a moment before shaking her head adamantly, "Nope. But you get to have my second favourite," She thrust Barbie Rapunzel towards Quinn and sighed, "I wish I had hair like her."

"Nooo, then think of how often people would stand on it!" She argued, and Brooke laughed.

"Don't be silly, I just presseded this button and her hair goes back in! No one steps on it, silly billy goat." Her eyes widened then, and she excitedly rooted through her bag of dolls, "I gots a new doll, Quinnie! He's my _favourite _boy." She finally found him, and pulled it out of the bag triumphantly.

"Meet Sam."

Quinn felt a little pang at the name, and took the doll from her hands to have a closer name. Of course, the only similarity to Sam that the doll had was its six pack and blond hair, but it made Quinn smile nonetheless.

"And my favourite girl," Brooke began, holding out the doll that had been in her hand the whole time, "is Quinn. Her real name is Sleeping Beauty, but that's not really a name is it? I think Quinn is much nicer cause its like you and you're really pretty with blonde hair. Sometimes I wish I had blondie hair but then I think that it looks too like my Barbie's and Janet Bigly might make fun of me! She's really mean!" Brooke didn't seem to need to pause for air, but handed Quinn a brush so she could fix Rapunzel's hair. She then proceeded to change 'Quinns' clothes, "I don't like her very much. Before I branged my dolls to school and she called my mommy doll stupid! She's just stupid. I love my Mommy and I love my dolls so my mommy is one of my dolls. It's perfect cents."

"Sense darling, sense. And yes, it does make sense. Which one is your Mom?"

She held up the only brown haired doll of the bunch, who did look a little like Rachel as she donned a head-microphone and a glitzy costume, not unlike Rachel did every other night for her shows. "She's beautiful, Brooke."

The little girl beamed, "I know."

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><p>It had taken longer than Quinn expected to get Brooke to quietly sit and watch 'The Little Mermaid', but once Quinn informed her that Ariel was a princess, there was much less of a fight. She also happily changed into her pyjamas without much of a struggle, which made Quinn very happy in return.<p>

Unsurprisingly, the chatty and clever girl had asked questions throughout the whole movie. Quinn had to constantly tell her to wait and see, or to elaborate on how people knew that mermaids didn't really exist. Quinn would've liked to just tell her that they did exist, and to look out the next time she is at the beach, but Rachel always chastised her for fantasy lies like that. Except Santa Clause and the unicorn of course.

No, Quinn could never understand why a unicorn was acceptable either. She reckoned it was Rachel's own secret fantasy creature.

Peeking down at Brooke's face, hidden by her hair, she saw that she was fast asleep. Her head was lying on Quinn's lap, so it was difficult to move it at all without fear of waking her. The ringing of the phone made her jump, and in turn made Brooke jerk, but thankfully the youngster remained in her slumber.

Carefully, Quinn pushed Brooke off of her lap and approached the phone. It was rather late for anyone to be calling, but usually Finn and Rachel checked up on her during the night - or else it was Santana with another drunken ramble. Santana and Rachel were the only people that Quinn had remained in contact with after school. It was perhaps a sad fact, but all truth nonetheless. She supposed as a result of remaining friends with Rachel she had contact with Finn, too, but that was only since they got married five years ago.

She looked back at Brooke, ensuring she was still asleep, and smiled upon seeing that she was. Brooke was one of the best things in Quinn's life right now; she would do anything for that little girl. She felt like in Brooke, she got to do the things and see the progress that she never could with her own daughter. That was probably why Quinn took her out on so many day-dates to various places. Of course, it always helped that she could usually hand the child back at bed time, where her parents would proceed to look after her.

Brooke wasn't truly that much of a handful; she was just quite loud and excitable. It was only when she became genuinely hyper that she became a problem - which was why Quinn always avoided giving her too many sweets. Or any at all sometimes.

The ring of the phone again made Quinn jump, and she picked it up hastily so it wouldn't wake her goddaughter, "Hello?"

"Q-Quinn? There's.. theres," Hiccoughs and hysterical crying made the person difficult to distinguish. Quinn felt her heart jump in her chest and her throat run dry. "There's been an acc-acci-accident.. Oh Quinn, my baby.." She wailed.

She recognised that voice. Quinn dropped the phone and fell back against the couch, her whole body shaking. She cupped her mouth with her hands and forced her tears back, refusing to let her thoughts roam. Her stomach lurched, and Quinn ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents. Retching over the porcelain bowl, it hit Quinn that she still had Brooke…

… and Quinn had no idea on the state of her parents.

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><p><em>Thoughts? You'd know I'd love to hear them :)<em>

_xCNx_


	3. III: Took My Heart By Surprise

I do not own Glee or "Wasn't Expecting That", the latter belongs to Jamie Lawson and is actually a lovely song! Now with the disclaimers out of the way... Thanks a million for reviews as well, more are heartily welcomed :) Also, next chapter will be longer! I have it done. I've decided to never update unless I have another chapter done afterwards, so the next chapter is in fact finished and I hope to get it out tomorrow. Thanks, and enjoy! (Well, enjoy.. maybe not :L)

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Three: Took My Heart By Surprise<em>**

_"Then you closed your eyes,  
>took my heart by surprise,<br>__I wasn't expecting that." _

It was another two hours before she reached the hospital, a still sleeping Brooke in her arms. She had woken up while being transported, but quickly fell back into her sleep once Quinn rocked her for a few minutes. It was sitting in the waiting room, eyes glazed over as she stared at the white walls plastered with health warning posters, that Quinn realised where she was.

_She was in the hospital. For Finn and Rachel._

She hadn't been able to listen to the details, she had been too distraught already to want to hear anything else. Quinn didn't want to hear about how it happened or what their chances of survivals were; she just wanted her best friends. They were her _best _friends now that she thought about it. How was she supposed to do anything without them? Quinn couldn't make a single decision anymore without Rachel's input - and she always had an input for her.

She looked over at Brooke asleep in the chair, and hung her head in her hands. A wailing Mrs. Hummel could be heard still, even though she had left the waiting room as she had become hysterical. Rachel's parents were huddled in the corner, both clutching each other so tightly that their knuckles had turned white long ago, and were now turning a purple and red colour.

Burt Hummel and left to comfort his wife; but Quinn didn't know if it would be useful to give anyone vain hope. False hope was one of the worst things to instil in a person, she thought. She didn't believe in keeping hope no matter the situation - sometimes, one had to be realistic, not hopeful. That said, she didn't know how realistic or unrealistic it was to say they'd be okay.

But despite all of her talk, she hoped against hope that they would be fine. How could they not be? They were Rachel and Finn, in the prime of their lives; madly in love with a beautiful child and flourishing careers. They were kind-hearted and gentle; they were encouraging and friendly. They were loving, even when she didn't deserve it.

"Rachel and Finn Hudson, where are they?" A panicked voice demanded at reception, and she glanced up. She would recognise that fair mop of hair anywhere, and at that moment, she just wanted to run into his arms. She needed someone now, and he would understand what was going on.

Her voice spoke before she could stop it, "Sam," She called out softly, and he spun around quickly.

"Quinn, what's going on? What happened? I just got a call from.. Brooke? Why did you bring her here?" He asked, eyes narrowing on her.

She felt her heart drop; now was not the time for she and Sam to throw the kitchen sink at each other. She brought Brooke because her grandparents wanted her there, and she told him so in the coldest tone she could muster. Yes, she could still command her HBIC tone when she needed to.

He faltered a little, and a silence lapsed between them. He collapsed into the chair beside her, leaning forward so that his face was hid from her view. Sam was breathing raggedly and heavily, and she could hear his chest hitch every few minutes. Her tears had dried up.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm just.. You heard how bad it is?" He raised his head briefly, and she was struck by how red his eyes were.

She had to remain strong, Quinn resolved, because no one else was, and Brooke was bound to wake at some point.

A young doctor entered the room, hands clasped before her and a serious expression upon her face. Quinn knew what was coming before it came, and shook her head by reflex. This was all a dream - a nightmare. She'd had it enough times to know it wasn't real.. It couldn't be real.

"Can I speak to the Berry's?" Rachel's fathers followed her quietly out of the room, their posture weak and frail and their composure just barely hanging on. It was a minute later that Quinn realised she wasn't breathing, and released a long exhale. She felt a deep burning in her throat, chest and eyes. It stung and by god, did it hurt. Her chest tightened and her ears rang.

Rachel's fathers didn't come back, but the doctor did. A simple shake of the head was all it took for Quinn's whole world to come crashing to the ground.

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><p>It hadn't taken much longer for Finn to join Rachel. They both left without so much as a word, and she still couldn't believe it. At first, she had simply been shocked speechless. She even refused to believe it - she vaguely remembered running into the room, shaking, prodding, pleading. It wasn't any use, but she still continued until someone pulled her away. The rest of the night and day was much of a blur.<p>

Her best friend. They had shared clothes, secrets, _men _… As they got older, there was nothing Rachel Berry didn't know about Quinn Fabray. And now? She was gone. That picture of perfection was shattered and all she was left with were the broken pieces. Could she even fix those broken pieces? Probably not. She certainly didn't feel like she could right now. For the most part, Quinn pushed it from her mind. She went to work and didn't tell them what happened; she came home and went to bed. She showered every now and again, but that was all on auto-pilot, and only out of the necessity of not raising suspicion at work. Harry had noticed something was wrong of course, but Quinn couldn't respond.

She couldn't respond correctly or properly to anything.

Part of her wanted to lie in bed all day. Part of her wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. And then another part of her, a large part, wanted to leave America and never look back. She couldn't do any of those things though.

Quinn looked into the mirror for the first time in days, and found that her reflexion was more pristine that it had been since it happened. Her make-up was flawless and hid all signs of insomnia and tears. Her outfit was impeccably suitable and black. And her expression… that was satisfactorily void of any emotion. She had to be strong.

Quinn felt herself shaking as she closed her door behind, the keys to her car nearly falling out of her hand in the process. She tried opening the car door, but missed it twice, leaving light scratches. Her shaking grew progressively worse until finally, Quinn simply leant on the car, sliding down it until she hit the ground ungracefully. Sobs began to wrack her small and frail looking frame, and pain struck every bone in her body. She didn't know why people said death hit your heart; her whole body was in pain.

She began to realise how public her display was and tried to regain control - but it had been so long since she cried properly. She had blocked it all out for the past few days, and now, dressed in black and attempting to drive to a funeral, Quinn suddenly knew what was going on.

Her best friend was _dead._

With that thought, she threw her keys with all her might across towards the wall. She heard them hit it, but paid no heed, and instead began to kick her car in her heels. The scraping and banging did little to deter her.

Rachel was gone - she had gone and _left her!_ She hadn't even said goodbye on Sunday night before she left. Quinn's couldn't even remember the details of their last conversation. With that, she became angry at herself.

It was then that she felt someone pull her away from her car, and they began whispering soothing comments in her ear. Quinn shook her head, even if she wasn't sure why. "It-it's never going to be okay." She told them blankly, and then whispered, "never" hoarsely.

"Quinn, you're late… I'll drive you, okay?" She glanced up and realised it was Sam. How he had gotten to her house and why eluded her in that moment, but she did know that she had never been so relieved to see him in her life. Quinn nodded feebly and allowed him to lead her to his car. Once safely deposited in the car, she glanced at Sam in the mirror and was struck by how old he seemed. Last she saw him, he didn't look like this. Quinn glanced down at her hands; she supposed everyone took the news in different ways. The whole ride, she worked on blocking out every emotion and thought until by the time they got there, she had a confidently blank expression and an able mind.

(It wasn't until much later that she discovered they had been waiting for her for fifteen minutes because she had been too busy bashing her car doors in.)

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><p><em>So no worries, next chapter will be Sam guys… Finchel will feature in the story in the name of flashbacks and memories. Some others will also feature in the next chapter.<em>

_Reviews are loved please!… not easy writing the immediate stages of death. You may notice no mention of Brooke - that's because to me, she wouldn't be the frontal thoughts here as she is safely with her grandparents._

_xCNx_


	4. IV: I'm Still Alive

I do not own Glee, If or "Breakeven" by the Script which the title of this chapter is for all your lovely reviews, I appreciate it hugely! Hope you like this chapter.

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><p><span>Chapter Four: I'm Still Alive, But I'm Barely Breathing.<span>

It was as sad and tragic as he was sure Rachel would have pictured it in high school. Every expression was solemn at best, and black was everywhere he turned. That's all he could see, and all he could feel at that moment. Could you feel a colour? If you could feel blue, then Sam was sure what he was feeling was pure _black. _Although he was somewhat numb, simply going through the motions.

Two pristine, gleaming and shining coffins lay at the top of the church, with delicate flowers laying on them. Rachel's were an array of colours, whereas all of Finn's were red. Sam hadn't been able to approach them; he was still pretending they were someone else's. He sure as hell couldn't look at the pictures. He absently felt his fiancé squeeze his arm, but he didn't appreciate the gesture fully as he couldn't escape the feeling that she didn't understand. How could she understand? Bottom line was her best friends hadn't been stolen away from her in one flurry of madness, in one slip of the mind, in one snap judgement.

_She couldn't understand. _

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to shun her attempts at comfort. He needed something to hold onto after all, and she was only trying to help. It was then that he noticed someone approach the podium, and quickly recognised it as Rachel's birth mother, Shelby. He couldn't fathom why she would be reading - she hadn't been involved in her daughters life in the least. It should be a friend up there, but no one seemed to be able to take on that load.

"I let life fly by without getting to know my first daughter, R-Rachel." She stuttered, eyes staring at the ceiling. "But I know what kind of person she is. This poem reminds me of her, and it reflects a lot-a lot…" She gave up then and sighed, "This is 'If' by Rudyard Kipling and it's for Rachel and Finn, two of the kindest people I've ever known.

"If you can keep your head when all about you  
>Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;<br>If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,  
>But make allowance for their doubting too;<br>If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,  
>Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,<br>Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,  
>And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;..."<p>

As Sam listened to the first few lines, he felt his body start to shake involuntarily. He couldn't do this and it had been absurd to think he could. His eyes scanned the room for inconspicuous exits, and he felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage suddenly. Spotting a rather hidden escape, he began to rise and realised someone across the room was doing the same.

His eyes widened when he realised it was Quinn, and she met his eyes with hesitance. The shame and guilt in her gaze rebounded on him, and both of them instantly felt embarrassed by their actions. Even though they felt like the world was against them, like the church was about to collapse in on them, like they'd never be able to breathe again, it was their duty to remain there. They at the very least owed that to their friends.

He sat down gingerly, and Dina shot him a quizzical look, "Are you okay?"

He blinked. What kind of question was that? Sam didn't answer, and instead turned towards the front again. He was sitting several rows from the front on the right side, and at the edge of his pew. People he didn't know sat next to Dina, and he liked it that way. He was relieved that there wasn't one, long row filled with those who once starred in New Directions.

Kurt walked towards the mic then, with his head held high and his eyes red and puffy. His skin was as delicate looking as ever - except it now bordered on pale and sickly, rather than porcelain. As Kurt cleared his throat and glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him, Sam closed his eyes. This one was going to hurt.

He began to count the shoes lined up along the pew instead. Individually at first, and then he'd move onto pairs. It was a fantastic distraction and kept his emotions in check like he had wanted.

"I'm Kurt Hummel. Many of you won't know me, but I'm Finn's step-brother. Rachel was one of my good friends in our youth, and she still is someone I'd consider a close friend.

"Th-The two of them have been constant fixtures in my life since we joined our high school Glee club back in the day. In hindsight, you know, it's rather funny because I had the biggest crush on Finn. And there were so many reasons why, really. He was a hero to all those around him - he was the friendly giant, so to speak. He joined the outcasts as well as playing with the most popular of the school.. And he took it in his stride. Yes, he struggled, we all do in school, but Finn - he al-always managed to hold it together and in that, hold everyone else together too. We may not have realised it until our first real competition and he quit, but Finn was in many ways the glue that held us together. That's the person he is; someone who held up the spirits of others. Caring, good-spirited and..and one of my best friends. He was my brother." At this point, Kurt's head lowered, causing his face to be hidden. Sam's chest clenched a little bit more and he averted his eyes again, this time counting the heads in the row in front of him. _One, two, three.._

Kurt shook himself, "I'm sorry, this is difficult. But I couldn't let there be no eulogy for such amazing people - it just wouldn't be right. Rachel is really one of a kind. I've yet to meet anyone like her, and yet to admire someone quite like her. Nothing could hold her back from her dreams, nothing could deter her - and although the lines of reality were sometimes blurred for her, she never gave up and she never lost herself. A glee loser in high school, but one of the most self-assured people I've ever known. The world doesn't even realise the loss its suffered this week." He shook himself once more, as if shaking away all his emotion, and then started again, but this time, he sang, "_Don't cry for me Argentina, The truth is I never left you, all through my wild days, my mad existence… I kept my promise, don't keep your distance,"_

Sam's head had snapped up at the sound of his high school mate singing softly, his voice wavering slightly. He recognised that song, he had heard her sing it before. He could still hear that power house of a voice that touched every persons inner core and made you _feel._ Tears prickled his eyes and he blinked them back rapidly. Sam wondered at Kurt's ability to remain intact up there.

Finally, Kurt stepped back, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

Sam could barely breathe; he felt suffocated, trapped, lost, numb and most of all… pain. He was a walking contradiction. As his old friend drew back his shoulders then, and began to walk down from the small platform, someone stood. Sam turned to see who it was, and realised they were clapping loudly. He joined them, and it wasn't long before the whole church was on its feet, clapping and crying. The clapping would come to haunt his nights.

It wasn't a cheering; it was an understanding. It was an applaud at his bravery, but a commiserate at the misfortune. Sobs were loud and cries were heart-wrenched and full of anguish… This was the low point of his life.

This time, he had to leave. The service was for all intents and purposes over now, and he honestly didn't want to see the coffins being moved. He needed to preserve what little goodness he could remember of them at this moment - because it was getting harder to remember them without the black.

He stood abruptly, and left without a sound.

* * *

><p>She wasn't sure how long she had been there. Seconds, minutes and hours seemed to melt away in the day that it was. She wasn't concerned with it either; there was no need for time, there was nothing time could do for her now. Time wasn't about to heal her today, and so she resolved to forget about it.<p>

There was a lot more she wanted to resolve to forget about. With the people buzzing about around her though, it was proving more and more difficult. She could hear people regale people with their tales of adventure with them, she could hear people lament, she could hear kids play blissfully.. Oh, she wasn't ready for this. She didn't know why she came.

(But she did, really. She couldn't reject Rachel and Finn's parents in their invitation. She couldn't just ditch their plans as if she didn't care. Because she did care. She cared too much.)

Quinn dragged her drink to her lips, lifting it slowly and draining it with the same pace. Placing it back down, she licked her lips - not out of pleasure, but out of habit. She stared at the empty glasses and wondered what Rachel would call it a metaphor for, because there was so many Quinn could think of. Her life seemed to be the most accurate one.

An empty glass.

She pulled her next drink over - she had told the barman to keep them coming, and was glad to see that he was good at following orders - but it was promptly plucked from her fingers. She turned to see who had the gall, and rolled her eyes despite the situation. He threw back the drink and hissed, sitting down next to her.

"You're on the hard stuff," He stated, signalling for the barman to come over.

She snorted, "Why would I want anything else?" Quinn glanced at him briefly, and was surprised by how he hadn't changed. He looked worse for wear right now, due to what was going on, but she assumed that he normally didn't have red eyes or black bags. He looked world weary at the moment. Despite herself, the corners of her mouth rose slightly when she noticed that his trademark Mohawk was gone.

"What happened to the Mohawk?" She asked impulsively.

His dark eyes flickered over to hers, and then he shrugged, "Guess we all have to mature a little at some point."

Quinn rose a brow, "_You _matured?"

He downed a shot of vodka, and shrugged again, "This doesn't seem very mature to me."

"We were never consistent." She replied, glancing down at her own shot. Quinn could feel the alcohol now, and she was so glad for it. Feelings and emotions were starting to be replaced with a numb feeling that she couldn't help but welcome.

There was a small silence between them, but it wasn't an awkward one. They were both just immersed in their thoughts, until Quinn broke it, "I can't believe they're gone."

He didn't reply for a beat, but when he did, his voice was hoarse. "I know." She leaned her head on his shoulder sadly, reaching out to his broken soul.

"I don't know how I'm going to cope without them, Puck." He said nothing, but stroked her hand softly.

* * *

><p>Brooke had been sitting with a group of boring adults for a while now, and was getting rather annoyed as a result. She didn't like being fenced in, and furthermore, she didn't like being bored. She supposed most grown-ups were no fun, except Sam and Quinn.<p>

And her Mommy and Daddy. She wondered where they were, and why they weren't with her. Grandpa had told her, but Brooke didn't believe that - her Daddy always beat the bad men. He had to be wrong.

Seeing the people around her laugh at something she didn't understand, Brooke decided that it was time for her to go find someone fun. Quietly - she had learned that escaping unnoticed required stealth and quiet - she slid down from her seat and crawled under the table until she was freed. They were in a pub restaurant, as Brooke called it, that she often used to come to with her parents. Her whole family and more was there, which she liked because she got to see lots of people.

Spotting a familiar head of blonde hair, Brooke bundled over to the stools at the bar. She promptly launched herself at her leg, "Quinnie!"

The woman stumbled on the chair slightly, and opened her eyes to look at Brooke. Why did she look so tired? Why were her eyes closed? "Oh, B-Brooke.. What'rr you doing?"

Brooke frowned and took a step back, not understanding her very well. "Why are you talking funny, Quinn? Are you okay? You're not sick are you because I don't like it when you're sick.. I don't want anyone to be sick," she cried, tears welling. Brooke didn't like crying, but right now, she felt very sad and scared and she wasn't sure why.

Quinn seemed to open her eyes then, because she knelt down (clumsily and drunkenly) beside her goddaughter and held her tightly in her arms. "I'm not going anywhere, B." She whispered.

(Quinn swore she would never let Brooke see her in that emotional, fragile and drunken state again. As a result of that, not many others did either.)

* * *

><p><em>That's all for now folks :) With the funeral out of the way, we can move onto more depressing stuff :D Isn't this fun? Jokes, jokes, but I hope to update again tomorrow. Shouldn't really be a problem.. Oh, and I don't own "Don't cry for me Argentina"... Didn't want to say it at the start cause it would have been kinda predictable ,no?<br>Review please ? :)  
>xCNx <em>


	5. V: Music Plays Like The End

Chapter Five: Music Starts Playing Like The End of a Sad Movie.

_Music starts playing like the end of a sad movie,_  
><em>It's the kind of ending you don't ready want to see.<em>  
><em>Cause it's tragedy and it will only bring you down,<em>  
><em>now I don't know what to be without you around.<em>

_- Breathe by Taylor Swift. _

Her mouth opens numerous times to utter some sort of response, but each time she comes up dry. Her mind is racing with a thousand different thoughts, all telling her something different and all pushing to be released. Again, Quinn can't speak though. All she can manage is staring numbly and blankly at the woman sitting in front of her. After several minutes of that, she glances to the man sitting on her side, who has also yet to say anything. She supposes that this isn't the best reaction from them.

But part of her feels angry. Angry at the world, angry at Finn and Rachel, and angry at both the man and woman in this room. She wants to ridicule them, she longs to bitch and yearns to scream in frustration at every single person she knows. She feels isolated and alone, without knowledge of how to stop that feeling. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to and it scares her more than death itself.

"I know this is a lot to take in," Quinn jumps at the sound of the voice, returning to reality quickly. "But this is what Rachel and Finn wanted. If you are very certain that you do not want to do this, it can be arranged that the grandparents take over. When I spoke with them, they expressed strong wishes of doing just that." She has a tone of business, but there is a touch of warmth and empathy that Quinn welcomes. She can't be much older than Quinn, with dark brown hair, a short upturned nose and crooked teeth that she would have gotten rid of years ago. She speaks again, and Quinn wills herself to look anywhere but at the womans teeth, "That said, you two are perfect candidates given your steady jobs, age and strong relationship with Brooke."

"It—it's just a lot to take in." Sam speaks first, his voice strangely hoarse. He's not about to cry, but his voice has a strange tone to it. Quinn looks at him and then back down at her hands. He said all she has to say: it's a lot to take in. He clears his throat and starts apprehensively, "B—but I would I like custody of Brooke. I'm confident that it's the best option for her, as she won't have to be uprooted hugely and…" He trails off, eyes going to the floor. After a few minutes of them waiting on him, he shakes his head, "I'm sorry. I can't talk about this right now."

"Quite understandable. Alright, well I will leave these forms for you and I'll give you both a call shortly to discuss this further. It would be best in Brooke's interest to finalise this as soon as possible."

Quinn only nods, shaking the woman's hand and offering her the best smile she could. It isn't much. She and Sam stand, barely acknowledging each other as they exit the room. Quinn is so wrapped up in her own thoughts that Sam's presence doesn't even affect her; the silence between them doesn't rebound on her. She welcomes it. Silence has evaded her lately, mostly because she avoids it. (Avoids it to avoid thinking. Distractions are noisy and numbing.)

It's been three weeks. Yet, things don't feel easier. They feel different – she definitely feels different – but not easier. The only place she's been is work and home. She hasn't spoken to any of her friends, though some tried, and she certainly hasn't sought anyone out. It's better this way.

"Um, I guess we should talk about this." Quinn realises with a start that they're in the parking lot, and Sam is standing in front of her with his hands in his pockets. His eyes are unfocused, looking into the distance, but it isn't long before he redirects his those blues to her. "You haven't said anything."

She's surprised to note he's correct. Quinn hasn't spoken a word since she found out, and furthermore, she didn't even notice. Perhaps being alone is affecting her more than she originally thought. (There seems to be some sort of cheap victory in that.) "I—I guess not."

He lets out a frustrated sigh, "Quinn, I need you to talk to me about this. I want to take Brooke, but I don't think I can without you."

She nods, but doesn't say anything. Quinn can see he's getting visibly pent up by her lack of response, but she just feels so empty. She never knows what to do, what to say or what she wants anymore because all of her conflicting desires. She want's to be loved, but doesn't want to get close; she wants to talk, but doesn't want anyone to see; she wants happiness, but doesn't want the risk of getting hurt again. She wants Brooke, but she doesn't know if she can handle it. Her voice just above a whisper, Quinn finally addresses the point, "I don't know if I can do it, Sam. She—she's so like … like _them._ I'm a mess."

His eyes soften. She knows he understands, but can't bring herself to ask him how he's doing for fear of the question being returned. "We're all a mess. But you and me, Brooke needs us. She loves us and we have to pull through for her."

"How can you be so strong?" It slips out before she can even stop it, and she's genuinely interested in the reply. She wants to be that.

"I'm not. I'd do anything to be as strong as you are." He replies, but the words are said quickly. He doesn't want to talk about it either. Before she can utter how ridiculous that is, he hurries on, "Are we going to do this?"

"Do we have much of a choice?"

He grins half-heartedly (it's empty, hallow and lacking the warmth he usually exudes), "Not if we would like to remain unhaunted."

She returns the false smile and nods, "I'll see you soon then." He does the same gesture, and they get into their respective cars before driving away. She doesn't quite understand what she and Sam are doing, how they're acting. Eventually, their past is going to catch up on them.

Eventually, they'll have to worry about living arrangements and when each of them has to collect Brooke and such. Her job can be flexible at times, she supposes.

Quinn is in a bit of a daze at the moment. She can't really grasp what's going on, and definitely not what she just agreed to, and at the same time she can't escape all that's going on. The walls are closing in on her, but it's time to start pushing them back. Squaring her shoulders, Quinn enters her apartment.

This is Quinn Fabray, she takes nothing lying down. She can feel the HBIC coming back, but it's not something she relishes, nor is it what she wants. There's an anger heating in her bones, a frustration that is clawing its way through her body and an utter fury at the world. What in the world did Finn and Rachel deserve for this? Yes, Quinn has done some fucking awful stuff in her life, but what in gods name did Finn and Rachel do? They don't intentionally hurt anyone, Rachel's an avid Jew, Finn helps children at _orphanages_ and their child is an angel. How could someone decide their fate was to leave early? It's not fair. _It's not fair._

"It's just _not fair!"_ Quinn screams, and then pulls the mirror off of her hallway wall and throws it against the wall across the way. It shatters into pieces, the shards of glass soaring threw the air and landing all across the corridor. Her chest heaves as she falls back against the wall, a little of the insatiable anger leaving her. But it's not enough. (It will never be enough, but she's not ready to deal with that.)

There's a warm substance trickling down her arm, and Quinn wipes it carelessly. It takes a moment to notice that there's blood all over her left arm, and a rather large gash on her leg.

(She's ashamed when she realises it made her feel better; made her feel in control, and slightly liberated from the emotion of fury.)

* * *

><p>Sorry it's such a short chapter folks, but I'll try and update quickly as compensation! I'm usually one for rather long chapters, so I'm irritated with the lack of length in the chapters of this story. No worries, I'll start to write more each chapter or update quicker. On that note, I'm terribly sorry for the long delay in updates. I went into college and lost interest in the story, especially since Sam left the show. The small Quam moments on the show now though reignited my feeling for this story, as well as reviews. Thanks so much for those :) This is going to be a bumpy ride by all means, but I hope it's at least a good read!<p>

Thanks for reading, and reviews are like Sam and Quinn working together in the christmas episode :D  
>CN<p> 


	6. VI: The Words To Your Favourite Song

Chapter Six: It's Like Forgetting The Words To Your Favourite Song.

The walk had long ago become aimless, pointless and utterly directionless. She doesn't mind though. For once in a long time, Quinn allows herself to diverge from the path of organisation and rigid routine. It's somewhat freeing, but the feeling doesn't remain with her for long. She longs to have a sense of normalcy again – she dreams for a time where she felt content. These days, Quinn doesn't feel like she's herself.

She's someone else, trapped in this body. Quinn can't escape and she can't run, mostly because she's too much responsibility to be so reckless. Maybe that's why she can't help but think that taking on her goddaughter is a terrible mistake, a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Quinn's not well. She's not well enough to take in a child, and certainly not well enough to attempt to be a nurturing female figure in the young girls life. Quinn can't take her friends place – she.. she refuses to take her friends place. It wouldn't be right. (It would be too real.) She and Sam have to make the three hour trip to Lima tomorrow to pick up Brooke, and essentially tear her away from the only family she has now. Quinn's stomach churns at the thought, bile rises in her throat and her vision blurs for a second.

But in a second, it's gone.

Time takes everything. Quinn's come to believe in this philosophy, almost whole-heartedly. Time takes away your beauty, time takes your dignity, it takes your sanity.. And ultimately, time takes your life. They say it heals. She can't imagine not having this heavy feeling in her chest though; can't remember what it feels like to breathe without the burn; can't recall the smile without the tears and guilt that follows.

Quinn glances up in time to realise she's in front of the theatre. It's suddenly very difficult to move, with her feet rooted in the spot and her body refusing to co-operate with her screaming mind. (It tells her to get away, far away, and that she's not ready for this.) Quinn just stares up at the place, taking in it's glory and lights and everything that her best friend was. Eyes drop to the ground, and Quinn knows that her friend was so much more than just her phenomenal talent. Tears push at the corners of her eyes. She inhales deeply, trying her best to push those emotions back into a box.

She jumps at the sound of a voice. "I've been coming here everyday for the past week. C—can't seem to go in."

She's slightly startled to see who's standing beside her, but her expression doesn't betray that. Without saying a word, Quinn simply redirects her eyes to the somewhat now foreboding building. She can't be here.

Quinn walks past the other person, her hand squeezing his arm briefly as she does. She knows that this is just as hard for him – he's lost a brother, too, after all. A brother and a best friend is a burden to take on, and although Quinn's unsure of whether she'll ever make it out of this ditch, she's even more uncertain about everyone else.

Looking back at Kurt – still standing in front of the place, eyes now closed and fists clenched – Quinn reminds herself that he's a fighter.

Thing is, Quinn's not sure about how much fight _she's_ got left in her.

* * *

><p>It's been six weeks, fourteen hours, seven minutes and twenty seconds.<p>

The seconds often become hazy, but the watch on his hand ticks relentlessly in order to keep reminding him. It doesn't give up or back down, doesn't listen to his pleads and doesn't halt for grief. Nothing stops, it seems. It reminds Sam of a poem he once did in school, Funeral Blues. He remembers it now like it was yesterday, but as a student, struggled with imprinting the words into his mind – it's odd because now they won't leave him.

_Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone… _That's all he wants. Sam wants some recognition, he wants to see them mourn. No one cares though. He tries to go to work, tries to concentrate but sometimes it's just so damn difficult. He's getting better. His methods hadn't been the cleanest, but the result had been what he wanted: numbness. Countless phone calls and drunken fumbles leaves him feeling numb to all emotion, and that's what he practices to maintain daily. (He wants to be like Quinn.)

People tell him it gets easier. He met Mercedes the other day – she came into his job – and she told him gets easier. He wanted to scream at her, almost desired to throw her out. Sam couldn't do that to her though, not to Mercedes and especially not when she was only attempting to help. But it angers him.

Mercedes is healed, continuing on like it never happened. Her life has kept on growing and her world spinning, whereas Sam's is crumbling with each tremor of grief that passes through him. It's not his fault that he's lost. Each day, he returns home to Dina only to have the longing to leave again.

Dina doesn't understand, and furthermore, she's not understanding. She doesn't understand why he has to take Brooke in, why he has to take custody and why he _must _make sure that she knows every detail about her parents and what wonderful people they were. She's getting frustrated with him, he can tell, but Sam wants her to hold on or be gone. He doesn't have the strength to play games and argue.

Sighing, he turns in his bed. The curtains are pulled across, but he can still feel the heat from the sun outside. The sunshine is so wrong, so against the rain he wants to be thundering against the window. The sunshine is so silent, so silently supportive and joyful. He hears the front door distantly close, and turns his attention away from the sky that he can't even see.

"Honey?" Her voice is like velvet, and it washes over him with ease. Sam's always been turned on simply by the sound of her sweet and elegant sound. For some reason, it doesn't work anymore. He still feels empty, but puts on a smile because that's what she wants him to do.

"In here."

She enters the room then, and leans against the door. She appears concerned, and the frown on her face tells him she's not pleased. "You're still in bed?"

Sam shrugs, struggling to maintain his happy demeanour. "Yeah, figured I should get some sleep before the big drive tomorrow." He slides out of the bed, standing and stretching to awake himself. Dina is still leaning against the door with the same frown which makes him uneasy all of a sudden.

It's gone then, and she's walking towards him, her expression neutral. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

He shakes his head, "No, it's fine. You'd only be missing unnecessary time at work." (You and Quinn in a car would make me very uncomfortable.) Sam looks around the room distractedly for his clothes, knowing that he does need to start packing for tomorrow. They're staying in Lima for three days before making the trip back home. Dina abruptly raises her hand to stroke his cheek, and the caress is so loving that he almost breaks down.

"I wish I could go.." She trails off, her had remaining on his face. "I worry about you." She whispers, and then takes her hand away. "You need a shave badly."

Sam nods, and puts it on his to-do list for tomorrow. If possible, he feels even heavier than he did before Dina spoke.

* * *

><p>The morning arrives all too soon. Instead of feeling the dread, grief and utmost longing to run he thought he'd feel, Sam experiences something strange as he dresses himself. He thinks it's anticipation, and wonders how long it's been since he felt something like that. Excitement seems like a bit of a stretch, but there's something positive in his bones.<p>

He wants to see Brooke. His goddaughter; a constant fixture in his life these past five years, and a bundle of sunshine. He reasons that he surely can't feel any worse than he does now – Brooke can only help to heal him. He hopes she has a healing effect, and realises that he has to heal her, too. Sam and Brooke have to try and make the world okay for this child, they have to provide an atmosphere in which she can flourish and not be crushed by the badness.

Dina is still in the bed when he comes back in to retrieve his bag. He takes a moment to observe her; sleeping calmly, no lines of worry etched into her forehead, a serene smile instead of a set line… Sam wonders when he last saw her look so peaceful, and all of a sudden it hits him that he's making her like that. He's making her stressed, worried and most of all, _unhappy._ In his life, Sam always disliked those that brought everyone else down with them, and now he's one of them.

Kneeling down, he gently brushes a stray blonde hair from her face. She's so beautiful. Small, curled eyelashes brush against the bottom of her eye as her eyes flutter a little in her sleep. The corners of her highly defined lips are upturned, nearly in a smile. (It hurts him that it's the first smile – or semblance of one – he's seen in a while.) Sam strokes her cheek, then kisses it softly, whispering, "I'm sorry."

He leaves for Lima then, for once not feeling as if he's about to breakdown any minute – more than anything, he's a little bit lost. (He doesn't entirely mind it.)

* * *

><p>Quinn clambers into the car without a word after placing her case in the boot. He starts the car without a word and begins driving. Without a word, they stay like that for an hour. They have a lot to talk about, and he's not sure whether it's just avoidance they're playing or whether she doesn't want to talk to him. (He and Quinn haven't really talked in a long time.)<p>

Since the silence is threatening to overwhelm him, Sam turns on the radio at low volume. There's a happy, upbeat tune on that he doesn't recognise, but it does him the favour of not reminding him of death or his friends. (He had forgotten how much they had sang. How much they had all sung together.)

Quinn glances at the radio before clearing her throat, obviously ready to say something. He's mistaken though, because no words fall from her lips following the noise. His eyes flicker over to her for a split second and then return to the road. She looks good. He reckons she put in an effort seeing as it's Brooke, because he hasn't seen her look so fresh in weeks. Her hair is slightly curled, reaching just above her elbows. Make-up is light and hardly noticeable on her face; she's never needed a lot to look beautiful. She's wearing a dark blue day dress, the sleeves reaching her wrist and the waist cinched to accentuate her dainty figure. He hadn't forgotten just how beautiful she is, but her appearance surprises him somewhat for some reason.

"New car?"

The question startles him, so much so that he almost wonders if he imagined her speaking. When she turns to look at him, he knows that she did in fact say something. It's takes him a further few seconds to recall her question, and then he chuckles. (It's the most he can manage.) "Since what – four years ago? Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Well not everyone can afford a car every four years, big-shot."

It makes him smile a little to hear some sass in her voice again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Sam responds, "Really? God, I could have sworn that was customary these days. Besides, I feel like I have the right to treat myself every now and again given my teen years."

Quinn nods, "You do. Definitely." Quiet settles around them again until she clears her throat. This time, she speaks immediately after, "Should we talk about this at all?"

"Probably." His answer isn't helpful, he knows that, but Sam's at a loss for words. What does she expect him to say? Wanting to contribute something, he continues, "Living arrangements should be discussed, I guess."

"Yeah." Neither of them speak for a while then. He wonders how long it'll take to get past all of this, to operate as normal again and not always feel as if you're treading some invisible line. Thirty minutes pass quickly as both of them are sucked into their own worlds and thoughts. He's vaguely aware of his stomach giving out, and asks Quinn where she wants to stop for food.

She's not hungry. Sam really looks at her this time; the dark rings around her eyes, tarnishing her creamy complexion; the gaunt, hallow appearance of her frame and the frailty she reeks. Silently, he promises that he'll restore Quinn Fabray.

(So silently, he hopes she'll restore him, too.)

* * *

><p>He had the unfortunate luck of being his best man. Sam was joking of course, he was honored to be chosen as the man standing next to the groom. It was a big occasion in anyone's life, but god knew how much this day meant to Rachel Berry. And more than people realised, Finn Hudson.<p>

In Sams mind, they were always meant to end up here. Even in high school, Rachel was off-limits in his mind because her and Finn – they were destined. Granted, Sam didn't believe in destiny and all that, but he did believe in Rachel and Finn. He believed they gave him, and anyone else they touched, hope in love and soulmates. Because there was no doubt in his mind that they were what soulmates would be if they existed.

Finn was fidgeting constantly with the cufflink on his right arm, eyes flying rapidly around the front of the church as he awaited for_ that_ moment when_ that_ fateful music would begin playing. Sam could see the nerves; fidgeting, shuffling and a few beads of perspiration lacing his forehead. Not to mention that Finn had now asked him four times if he had the rings, which he did. (He had actually stupidly given them to Puck to mind, who had forgotten them this morning. But as he stood at the altar with Finn, Sam had the rings.)

"Dude, the rings?" His voice was panicked and Sam rolled his eyes. He resisted the past few times, but this was ridiculous.

"Yes, I have the rings."

Puck, who was next to Sam, leaned over and patted Finn on the back, "Chill, dude. You know how long chicks take to get ready."

Finn nodded, more to himself than to his groomsmen. Sam was about to offer another word of comfort when the music started playing, which made Finn exhale in relief. They turned around and watched the three bridesmaids make their way up the aisle. Leading was Mercedes. She was wearing a dark green dress that was stark against her skin tone, causing her to really stand out. Her hair was pinned up elegantly and she smiled at him as she reached the top. Sam returned the gesture and moved his eyes to a college friend of Rachel, who also looked great. She was a red-head, and her hair looked amazing with the green. He thought her name was something beginning with L, but couldn't be sure. From the look she was giving the groomsmen, he reckoned she was picking out her mate for the night.

The maid of honour came next, and he instantly forgot about all the others. Quinn was the only maid with her hair down, curled like she did it as a teenager. Like when they dated first. The green dress, strapless, slid down her body like a glove and seemed to caress the curves she possessed. She gave all of them a smile, and winked at Finn. Sam allowed his eyes to follow her to the top of the altar, before realising the star was now in full view.

Rachel looked amazing. Then again, she never did anything half-way. Her hair was pulled over to one side and a loose bun held it together on the left side of her head. Make-up was subtle, but she didn't need much; her dress spoke for itself. It was ivory, also strapless and he could faintly see sparse diamonds glitter along the top of it. The dress was tight, and he wondered briefly how she was walking at all down the aisle.

Sam glanced at Finn and nearly laughed. The man appeared gob-smacked, his eyes glued to the woman's form. No one could miss the grins spread across their face, or how their expression illuminated upon seeing the other. Sam watched Rachel's fathers link their hands together, and turned to the front for the rest of the ceremony.

It was beautiful, he couldn't deny that. Rachel had insisted on writing their own vows, and while he and Finn grumbled about it as they struggled to write anything worth its salt, he had to admit it was worth it. It made the ritual more unique to them and added a personal touch, rather than simply reading out the vows that everyone else did. Besides, their clash of beliefs meant that it was the perfect compromise. Sam cheered loudly along with everyone else when they kissed at the end, and gladly held his arm out for Quinn to take.

The familiar scent of _her _instantly invaded his senses and gave him that giddy feeling. Sam hated the power she still held over him. Quinn turned to him and flashed him a bright smile, taken away by the moment. He was too, though. Lost in all that was romantic and Finchel, he beamed back at her. Their hands tightly entwined all of a sudden, they watched Rachel and Finn kiss at the top of the steps.

Sam shrugged and kissed her on both cheeks. Glancing back, Puck and Mercedes did the same with Kurt and college friend exchanging air kisses.

He found it funny how the spirits of a wedding can affect anything and everyone. All he knew, while standing there, taking far too many pictures, was that he wanted it at some stage.

(You should know, at this time, Sam had already committed to the idea of it being the bridesmaid at his side.)

* * *

><p>So, what do you think? I personally enjoyed writing this chapter, particularly the flashback where we see what once was, and the happiness. Also, some Finchel! I've a question now - I have decided already, but if Sam or Quinn were to struggle more with Brooke, which would you prefer to see do that? As in, who would you like to see struggle more?... Do not own Glee, or "Eet" by Regina Spektor which the chapter title is from.<br>Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews already, and I am greedy enough to ask for more! So please review, and thanks for reading.  
>CN<p> 


	7. VII: I Always Needed Time On My Own

Chapter Seven: I always needed time on my own, I never thought I'd need you there when I cry.

They arrive at the motel just as night is falling, enveloping them in a sense of relief. The night takes away the harsh reality of day, the bright vision of themselves and everyone else. Night often provides an escape – that is, if their dreams comply with their wishes to forget their troubles. Sam risks a glance towards his company, finding her already looking at him. Her expression is thoughtful and only a moment later, she is taking a step towards him.

Quinn's hair falls over her face when she lowers her head, the dim light of the reception casting a shadow over her features. Automatically, he lowers himself so that he's level with his eyes, "Are you coming to check in? You can wait here if you want." He doesn't really care if she comes or stays, but this suspense is irritating him – if she has something to say to him, she might as well go ahead and say it. Part of him resentfully – perhaps a little wrongly – deems this as her being dramatic, especially when she just sighs and turns away to sit on her suitcase.

Sam doesn't bother with saying anything else to her and walks towards the desk. It's not the same motel that once was supposed to be his home, and for that he's grateful, but it nonetheless reminded him of some other times in his life that were less than pleasant. It seems as if a motel must feature in all the worst memories he carries with him. The man behind the counter is Sam's definition of old; his lack of hair was highlighted by the same light that hid Quinn, while his rough and bony looking hands reflected a life of work. Eyes that possessed a warm quality appraised him, "Can I help you?"

It takes longer than it should to respond. After all, can he help him? No. This man can provide as much help as an apple can. People toss around this phrase much more than they should – like 'How are you?' which has come to grate on his nerves, too. The man commands his attention again with a nudge, "Kid, snap out of it. I'm sure there's not that much thinking to a room! So, is it just yourself?"

Sam glances behind to Quinn, who is sitting forlornly on her suitcase still, "Her, too. Two singles if possible – is there some sort of breakfast service?"

"Two singles? Are you mad lad, with a girl like that you'll be taking a double." He laughs, as if he's made a great joke. Sam's pity for the man overrides his desire to punch him, so he says nothing. "Wouldn't recommend any breakfast here to be honest, you might want to try the café across the road. Great place, that is. Makes the best coffee!" He bangs his fist on the desk with the last comment, making sure this vital information is imprinted in Sam's mind.

"Okay, thanks. Can I have that room?"

"Sure can. How many nights? It's fifty a pop, best I can give you."

"Two nights will do, and that's perfect." He takes out his credit card, realising that he's bearing the full financial brunt of this trip. He doesn't know whether to care or not about it; Sam no longer struggles financially, given his job, but part of him insists Quinn must contribute. Fairness, equality and all that.

The man hands him the key after some delay, which Sam takes quickly and makes a swift exit. His thank you is as hurried as his leave, but he hopes the man heard him. He heads straight towards the lift, tipping Quinn's elbow as he does so. She snaps out of her daydream and follows his lead. He holds the doors open for her as she drags her case in, feeling angry that she's brought such an unnecessary amount. Sam brought a sports bag.

She catches his look and colours a little, "What? I'm not sure how I'll be feeling tomorrow. My outfit will depend on that."

Sam raises an eyebrow, "It can vary _that_ much? I thought you only had two feelings; mild contentment and indifference."

A hurt look passes for a moment; so fleeting, that he's not sure if it really happened. It's replaced by a cold resolve with her chin raised and eyes diverted, "I thought you knew me better than that. Obviously not."

The doors open at that incredibly convenient moment (for her) and she storms out, pulling her case with great vigour. She gets about two steps away from him before realising that she has no idea of their room number, nor does she have a key to get in. Sam is about to grin at this – he's stopped by the slump in her shoulders and the hand she rubs wearily across her face. Guilt floods him as the cruelty of his comment hits him; he doesn't like hurting her, he certainly knows she doesn't need any more pain (like him). Swallowing the feeling, he overtakes her and leads the way to the room. There's a heavy sensation in his chest as he anticipates apologising.

She immediately claims the bed furthest from the door, which he remembers her always doing. Quinn hates sleeping near the door, for many reasons that he no longer cares to recall or debate. It's not like he minds either way, so he takes the other bed wordlessly. Neither of them unpack their bags. He simply throws his in the corner beside his locker and flops down on to the bed. She lays hers against the wall closest to her before unzipping it and leaving it ready to be used. After that, Quinn gazes around the room, seeming a bit lost. What are they supposed to do now?

Staring at the ceiling, Sam finally speaks, "I—I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't mean it, you know. And you do know that."

She turns back to look at him. Their eyes connect for the briefest of moments, then she's moving onto her bed and assuming the same position as him. Neither of them exchange glances now as the ceiling becomes their preferred view – after all, it doesn't evoke any unwanted sentiments. He can see her shrug a shoulder out of the corner of his eye though. "It doesn't matter."

"It was unnecessary." He concedes.

"It was. We're going to get frustrated with each other now and again though, and afterwards, we'll just have to get on with things. But the apology is appreciated," She adds. There's a conversational way to how she's talking which has been absent lately.

"Okay." Sam's not sure how else he's supposed to reply. For some reason that he'll never be quite capable of explaining, the next words topple out of his mouth before he can restrain them with all his might. "I never expected my next trip to Lima to be like this."

The second they leave his mouth, he regrets them. Talking about this is not something either of him have ever alluded to, or expressed a desire to partake in. In fact, talking about this has been somewhat of a taboo topic avoided with the greatest resolve. It is for these reasons that he actually jumps out of surprise when she replies softly, "I don't think anyone does." He turns on his side to look at her, perfectly fine with the fact that she does not return this gesture. Quinn's eyes remain fixed above her. "Then again, who would ever plan on returning here? It's a dead town."

"It's home." He whispers, afraid that his words are going to eventually demolish the peace that has been lingering between them. They had fallen into this truce, because they had to be together in this, and the past must be forgotten. History has to be erased for them – their history, their time together; _them._ Sam and Quinn, together, has to be like a chapter in the story that the editor rips out. It doesn't flow with how the plot is going; it's unnecessary to the progression.

"Is it?" She questions, and Sam takes a second to consider what she's proposing. Has this town ever been his home? The answer comes to him immediately – as so little answers do – and he says it without a beat of hesitance.

"Yes. It not bring the most favourable of … of well, anything, at the moment.. but this place is where all the people I love the most come from. It's where my life really started and I'm not going to forget it. We belonged here for a while."

"For a while." Quinn repeats. The blonde turns to face him then, once again mirroring his position. Her eyes are haunted while she relays her thoughts to him, "How are we supposed to do this? To.." she need not finish the sentence, because he knows exactly what she's talking about. Brooke's not going to be easy, but they have to do this. Her eyes meet his, and he can't help the instant rush of affection that overwhelms him – Quinn understands. She may be the only one that understands truly.

"I don't know," His answer his honest. There's no reason for him to be untruthful or sugar-coat; they're both big and bold enough. He raises from the bed and retrieves two glasses from the press, not forgetting a bottle of whiskey from the mini-fridge, and nudges Quinn over on her bed. Her pours a generous amount for both of them and waits for her as she sits up to lean against the headboard. He plants himself next to her. Handing her the glass, Sam manages to raise the corner of his mouth, "We have to do this. To me, that deserves one last night of getting pissed."

(His brain screams at him for lying – this isn't going to be the last night, and he knows it.)

She accepts the glass gratefully. They watch each other gulp it down, and another round is poured. Several rounds go by without a sound until the bottle is empty, and they're looking at each other in slight bewilderment. She laughs in astonishment, "Did we just drink the whole bottle?"

"It wasn't very much." He moves to get comfortable and feels the alcohol hit him strongly, making him wary. "Woah." A laugh escapes him, "That was such a stupid idea. We're so stupid."

She giggles, "It was your idea, genius."

"Quinn Fabray can no longer say no?"

Quinn nudges him harshly in the ribs in response, causing him to fall off of the bed. She lets out an uproarious laugh at this (it releases some of the tightness in his chest ) and he grumbles, though he's not really hurt or upset about it. "There's your answer."

He pokes her when he sits down again, feeling happier than he has in weeks. Normally, he drinks so much that he can't see straight and can't feel anything, but this level of intoxication suits him better. The worries of the world melt away as the burden on his shoulders crumble to the floor. It's great. He smiles widely at her, "We should go to Mango's."

Quinn laughs again, this time shaking her head, too, "There is no way in hell I'm going there! That's where we went when we were nineteen, Sam… We'll be the oldest people there!"

"It'll be fun," he insists, dragging her off of the bed. Being stubborn, Quinn pulls him back onto the bed. He stumbles and lands beside her, flat on his face, breathing into the pillow. She hovers over him, telling him of how she's beaten him.

He turns around and looks up at her, inwardly spinning a plan to get her to the club. He wants to make a glorious mess of himself and dance clumsily to the music – why doesn't she? There's a small grin on her face, but Quinn's not looking at him. In fact, her eyes are on nothing in particular, and seem to be in a world of their own. He's let into this world when she speaks next, "Those summers were some of the best. Having to come home from college didn't feel like such a chore."

He nods eagerly, "And we always had such a blast. I hadn't thought that cheap shithole could ever offer such amusement and absolute laughs." It was a club that was fairly easy-going on the underage radar, often letting people in once there was a convincing enough ID. Their group of friends had been no exception, and if someone did have trouble getting in, Santana never had a problem talking their way in. It was usually Sam, Quinn, Santana, Blaine, Finn, Rachel and Puck. The others of the glee club made appearances, too, but not as frequent as those seven as they didn't return home for the whole summer.

Quinn turns to him, "Do you remember the time Santana lost her shoes and some random guy posted a picture of them on facebook looking for the owner?" There's a hearty snicker after that, which he joins in.

"God yeah! She wouldn't stop cursing in Spanish on the way home – then some guy posts a picture on the clubs page. Priceless!"

"Of course, Santana just had to sleep with him to repay him.." They're both thoroughly engrossed in the story, remembering it fondly and laughing till their sides hurt. It isn't long till their regaling the great stories of their nights out together in college; there had been a surprising amount.

"The time Blaine told a guy Puck was gay, and he wouldn't leave Puck for the night – that has to be one of the best!"

Quinn's doubled over as she recalls the memory, "I thought Puck was going to throw a punch he was getting so frustrated! Especially when the guy was grinding against him on the dancefloor from behind; Puck thought it was one of us until he _felt _him!"

Sam stands and does an elaborate impression of how that scene played out, which causes great amusement for his companion whose breathing is becoming more and more difficult with her great hoots. She slaps him, "Stop, stop! I can't take anymore."

"Or when Finn found the closed bar upstairs and raided it? He came back down absolutely locked, passing out bottles of beer to everyone –"

"Only to get kicked out because of it –"

"And going to get a bag of chips, coming back ten minutes later, and getting in again." What happens next is something neither of them will ever forget, because their reactions to this story are exactly the same as the rest – they're laughing. Laughing so hard they again are left gasping for air. As seconds saunter by, their cackles turn hysterical and when Sam's eyes return to Quinn's - there's tears in them.

Suddenly, the laughter dies and tears are creeping up the corner of her eyes, waiting for the opportune moment to stealthily sneak out. His eyes glisten in return and he squeezes them shut in an effort to shut out the possibility of anything leaking out. They open again, finding Quinn still looking at him, her expression now heartbroken. Her lips now trembling. Her eyebrows now fallen.

"Sam –" Her breath is shaky, "Sam, wh-where are they?" Quinn sounds like a lost child. He feels like a lost child.

Sam barely registers raising his shoulders ever so painstakingly slow in a useless shrug, deathly afraid of speaking. His voice doesn't warrant any trust right now. The next few seconds tick by in the same painfully slow manner that his shoulders moved. Their eyes are locked; Quinn and Sam are unable to glance away, not desiring to break the moment. His fists clench tighter as she bites her lip as the trembling intensifies. Her chin raises as he presses his lips into a thin line.

Her shoulders shake as her tears escape. His eyes release the water begging at his lids as he closes them.

They fall together into a lying position on the bed, their limbs tangled their bodies shaking involuntarily. Sobs come harsh and unrelenting for her, while tears rush from his eyes mercilessly.

They cry till they can no more, then pass into a dreamless sleep.

(It's the best either of them have slept in six weeks.)

* * *

><p><em>(past.)<em>

The night had progressed exactly as he had hoped so far; drinks, dances, banter and maybe later, a kiss would make it complete. It was a normal night out in Mango's, where Sam Evans was standing intoxicated at the bar. He was looking out at the dancefloor, searching for his friends before he jumped into the sea of people.

Finn startled him by thumping roughly on the back, "What you doing here, dude? Go get that chick who has been making sex eyes all night."

Sam looked back at him, eyes dazed with drink, "What? What girl?"

Finn pointed her out, and Sam followed his finger to a woman who was indeed watching him. She was sitting with her friends but paying them little attention as she smiled coyly at him, flicking her glorious red hair behind her and crossed her legs daintily. Sam turned to him, "Nah."

"Q again? Man, man up and get with her. Before someone else does. Wait – is that? Rachel! Rachel, get down!" He ran off to his drunken girlfriend then, who was being pulled onto a table by Santana. Safe to say, Santana wasn't the steadiest person to be helping her up and Finn was rushing to stop the inevitable crash.

"Would you chill out, I'm a cheerleader, I got this," He heard Santana tell him, her words a little slurred.

He turned to look beside them, where Quinn was dancing animatedly to the pumping music with Puck and Blaine. Her smile was lighting up the room (that may have been just his opinion though) and her eyes still enraptured him in the bad light of a shady club. Without much more deliberation, Sam made a beeline for her. He reached her in minutes an wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. She shivered and turned instantly to him, kissing him softly. He didn't think he'd ever get sick of her kisses.

Pulling back, Quinn smiled, "Let's go sit down?" He nodded and led them to a more secluded booth. They kissed occasionally, both softly and passionately, and they laughed occasionally, both hysterically and quietly. Hours were spent in her company, without either of them even realising the time racing by. His fingers played with hers as she told him a story about her friend from college, whom he had met once when she came to visit. She was a live wire, and extremely different from his Quinn.

His Quinn. Except, technically, she wasn't his at all. She was free to kissed who she liked and they had made it that way. He had agreed to keep everything open and without commitment – a guys dream. It was a dream for about two nights, and then it became a regret. Guys constantly flirted with her and it always had to try and deflect them… making up flaws about Quinn got easier with each night though. He got more creative, too – telling males that she had herpes, that she was in prison, that she'll only have sex with the lights and clothes on (minus boxers&knickers), that she has a few kids at home… Strangely enough, he never regretted those.

Quinn should be his – but with returning to college in the fall, it was risky. Long-distance wasn't worth it. This was easier, he told himself.

For the next few years, Sam will continue to tell himself it was easier apart.

* * *

><p>Sorry for the long wait folks, but I hope this suffices! I have to say, I enjoyed writing this chapter and think it's one of the better ones. Next chapter will feature the adorable Brooke, no worries. Btw, the stories they were exchanging actually happened to me and my friends haha... Some of the funnier times indeed!<br>Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or "When You're Gone" by Avril Lavigne.  
>Thanks for reading, please leave a review.. it really encourages me! Btw, please tell me: Would you rather see Sam or Quinn struggle more with Brooke? In answer to one response, I thnk I need to clarify - I don't mean how do you think Brooke should be, I mean which of the adults would you like to see have more angst and difficulty in seeing their friends child? Thanks,<br>CN


	8. VIII: Such a Beautiful Mess

viii: Such a beautiful mess, that's breaking my skin. Well I'll hide all the bruises; I'll hide all the damage that's done. But I show how I'm feeling, until all the feeling has gone.

The morning comes like it does everyday; intrusively and loudly. Not that it means to be loud, it just seems to startle Sam into such a state of reality that everything comes crashing down around him. He's thought about it before – his dislike of the day, and craving for the night – but it's always strongest in the morning. Sam turns to the array of blonde hair beside him, still sleeping with her head buried in the pillow. He contemplates allowing her to sleep, maybe getting them some coffee and bagels across the road before making the treacherous trip to the Berrys. (Treacherous because his mind is dreading it, and his body almost refuses. Because they want their granddaughter, and _they_ want their freedom. He feels guilty immediately after this comes into his mind.)

He's saved from making a decision as Quinn stirs lightly. It's good too, because he can't remember how she likes her coffee anymore, or what she'd prefer on a bagel – or if she even still eats them when she's upset like she used to. Sam doesn't even realise that he's watching her until her eyes are blinking blearily back at him, confusion marring her features. The reality slowly dawns on her, as he knows it so well, and the light in her eyes trickles out. She stretches languidly, him helplessly drawn to her way her body flexes as she does so. She's always been beautiful.

Sam shakes his head, afraid to jump out of bed as it _is _the morning. If one gets his meaning. Quinn doesn't seem bothered in the slightest though, as she no doubt knows from experience, and simply lies there for a second. He's surprised by how easy it is. He had expected there to be an awkward, uneasy air to their movements and words this morning. It's the opposite though – and it scares him a little. They're so seamlessly at ease with each other's presence, and furthermore, with the presence of each other's grief.

What is strangest, however, is that despite the small hiccough on his part – it's not sexual. Lying together in the bed, limbs still touching but not quite tangled, eyes glued to each other and breath mingling; it's nothing to do with desire or sex. It's comfort and friendship, something he and Quinn haven't received from each other in a long time.

(He always wondered if they rekindled, would things be like nothing ever happened. He's beginning to think it would – and these are thoughts he could definitely do without.)

She gets out of bed and peels off her dress carelessly, making him abruptly avert his eyes. Although it's only innocent, the fact that his fiancé is waiting for him at home puts Sam slightly uneasy with this. He glances up to find her with a white skirt, and about to put on a top. Something catches his eye though, and he grasps her arm to halt her actions.

"Quinn… what is that?" His tone is soft, but demanding. He's not playing games here, and she's going to answer him directly. There's an anger in his bones that he can't identify, nor can he pinpoint reasons for. He supposes he needs her to be on top of her game – or at least to the best of her ability, but this is off-the-wall incapable. Has she been beaten by someone? Has she been attacked? If Quinn is putting herself in a situation to be hurt, Sam needs to know. He gently runs his finger across the raw, red and jagged line that is engrained into her skin. There's more around it, but they're lighter, obviously older and having healed better. His hand lingers. His eyes move to hers then, and he doesn't doubt that she can see he's full of questions.

Quinn jerks away, pulling the top down roughly over her head. "It's none of your business." She turns to go to the bathroom, when he jumps off the bathroom and runs to stand in front of her.

"Oh no you don't. You think it's not my business? You are my business now, Q, and I'm yours. In case you didn't notice, we're _raising a child together."_ His voice raises as he bites out the last of his words, and with each syllable, Quinn's expression grows darker. He had hoped to appeal to the soft Quinn, who would break down and let him in, but this Quinn is the dangerous, infuriating one; stubborn, private Quinn.

She raises her chin stubbornly, "I'm well aware, thank you." The ice in her tone sends chills down his spine. "But I'm not your property, where you can assess the damage every now and again." Quinn pushes past him, and is into the bathroom and everything when his voice rings out.

"I need to know if you're fighting, or if someone's hurting you, Quinn."

She sighs heavily, "Leave me alone. Please."

Sam walks up and leans against the doorway, surveying her as she brushes her teeth. She doesn't appear bothered by his eyes and ignores him steadily, not one ounce of distress in her features. He's amazed sometimes by how she compartmentalizes, by how she can forget everything for a few hours. (Sam knows that she never really forgets it, but she can keep up the façade for hours at a time. He can't do that. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and if it gets swiped, spit or hit at, it's worth the love, happiness and understanding he receives in return. He does know how often she thinks about it though – every ten minutes, for him. They cross his mind all the damn time.)

"Are you finished?" She's obviously done with the bathroom, and looking to leave. He's not budging though – before they go to Brooke, he needs to know what is going on with Quinn. His gaze is as steady as he can make it, drawing her gaze to him. Hers is just as level.

"I haven't even started."

She quirks a smile, "There's cheesy Sam back again. I've missed him."

"Hey, you're not getting out of this one," He says lightly, touching her arm. Sam needs her to know that he'll be there for her, that he's not going to leave her like so many, and that he understands. They're in this together ; she needs to grasp it. "Brooke needs us more than anything else. We need to be able to provide something adequate, and we have to function as well as possible. What is going on with you?" She's silent. "I can help you Quinn… I promise."

She shrugs, her eyes on the floor, "What if I can't help you?"

"You will. Don't worry about that… So? Is someone hurting you?"

Quinn scrunches her face up, scoffing, "Don't be ridiculous, Sam."

Her nonchalant and dismissive attitude angers him, causing his temper to flare. Sam hates when Quinn is like this, when she puts up her walls and becomes dismissive, cold and a huge bitch. He never did like HBIC, though it seemed in school that was all he saw in her. That's what other people thought he saw in her; he saw a strong, independent and beautiful woman who overcame all the hardship she had with dignity and strength. He admired her.

This woman in front of him, was what she became after. Of course, this Quinn was always lingering in high school Quinn, but as they got older, she became more private. She became more distant to him. This Quinn was going to try and block him out, because everyone she's ever let in has hurt her.

He's still angry. "Don't be such a bitch, Quinn. I'm trying to _help _you."

Her eyes widen, "A bitch? I'm a bitch because I deny someone attacked me? What planet are you living on?"

"That's right, attack and criticise me because you're so deathly afraid of letting someone know you're hurt. And of course, Quinn is so independent and strong that no one can every think someone _hurt her._"

"Are you an idiot? I'm hurting every minute of every day, Sam. Excuse me if I don't shout it from the rooftops or cry on your shoulder! I thought we had to be strong in front of Brooke, not bumbling messes!"

"That is _not _what this is about Fabray, and you know it."

"Oh, it's Fabray now? And why did you make it about this then? Hmm? Picking a fight?"

He throws his arms in the air with exasperation, feeling the desperation now. He only wanted to know her problem, and what the hell was causing those marks across her midriff. "I was worried someone was hurting you! Why can't you just admit that you've been attacked or something? God, you're so impossible sometimes. Not everyone is out to get you, you know!"

"You want to know why I didn't respond? You want to know why I didn't tell you my attacker, Sam Evans?" They've been shouting, and her voice is a little hoarse at this point. She never usually shouts, and is out of practice obviously. Quinn doesn't lose her temper, she's too cool and collected for that.

They're inches away from each other now; him staring her down with pure frustration and slight anger, as she glares up through her thick, light eyelashes with heaving breath and fury he hasn't seen before in her. (Lie number one. Lie number two being the other emotion he see's flickering in her eyes, the one screaming for help. The one filled with dread.)

"Come on Quinn, tell me – tell me how horrible I am, that you couldn't tell me!"

She smacks his chest harshly, stray strings of hair falling out of her bobbin and over her face. They move erratically as she hits him, each pound serving to irritate but not hurt. Sam allows this to continue for several more hits, until he grabs her hands, "What, Quinn?" He demands loudly of her.

"Because _I_ did it, you asshole!" Flabbergasted, he drops her hands. She pushes him back and storms past him, her breath still haggard and difficult. Sam follows her into the room and watches numbly as she starts putting the necessities for the day in to her handbag roughly, often dropping items or bashing them together in the bag.

He can barely process the thought. Sam had never thought Quinn would hurt herself, and had definitely never once thought he would miss it. How could he not have asked how she was doing more? Sam should have kept a better eye on her, he should have noticed.

She sits down on her bed then, defeated. He's still standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and speechless. Quinn glances back at him, then turns back to her hands. "It's not your fault, you know."

"But—but I—"

"You couldn't have known. And let's not forget you have your own problems… Sam, this could not be any less your fault. You're going through the same thing as me."

The words make sense, and the knots in his chest release a little. Sam comes to kneel in front of her on the ground, taking her hands into his. He doesn't know how to phrase what he's going to say, or even what he should say, but Sam thinks speaking from the heart is the best thing to do in this situation. He takes a deep breath, and then takes the proverbial plunge, "We're taking Brooke in." His hands are playing with hers, caressing them gently while delicately keeping a tight hold. She's staring at their hands. "We need to be in this together, and – and I need you to be better than this. We can get you help if you want, or we can speak to someone, but… but god Quinn, if you did something even more serious to yourself, I-I don't think I.."

She grips his hands, ceasing the movement. "I won't. I'm not going to do that again… I have Brooke to think about, and I have to make her surroundings a safe environment. None of this."

He says what she's needed to hear then, "Don't be ashamed. We all have bad days."

Quinn nods wordlessly, and he pulls her in for a hug. He has certainly got his work cut out for him.

* * *

><p>An hour, two bagels and four cups of coffee later, the duo are standing on the Berry front step. Memories assail both of them, and the desire to be anywhere but here is strong. They should have been more clever in choosing a place to meet – not where their dead friend spent most of her life. That was a bad move on everyone's part. Sam wonders how on earth Rachel's parents live here.<p>

The two of them had moved on swiftly from this morning, and gone to breakfast. They discussed their lives the past few years and caught up on everything of a frivolous nature. He told Quinn all about Dina, and she responded animatedly with questions about her and mocked him with good humour. Quinn told him all about her job and those in it that were important, about her favourite patients, and even a few funny stories. It was the reconnection they needed before doing this. It was what they had been avoiding all along – and in the end, it had been painless.

Now, standing at their dark mahogany door, Sam's glad it's Quinn next to him. (He won't admit she's the only one he'd like standing there.) They exchange apprehensive looks, then he knocks again. It's Hiram who finally answers, looking worse for wear. His glasses are so dirty that it'll be a miracle if he can see out of them, his clothes are not the immaculate state they usually are, and his breath smells distinctly of food. Lots of it. He says nothing as he opens the door wider for them to enter, and Sam is surprised to find how flawlessly clean the house is. There's nothing out of place. He supposes that part is for Brooke's benefit. The façade of the house, and the turmoil of the person is something she'll never distinguish at her age.

It's too quiet, he realises. Quinn voices his thoughts for him, "Where's Brooke?"

"With the Hummels. She'll be back soon. We thought they'd be back before you, but it seems they're running late. Tea?"

Neither of them particularly desired to prolong the visit, but they knew it was inevitable. They were due to have dinner with them tonight and tomorrow night, too. Sam had wanted to simply take Brooke and run, but everyone else had insisted on a show for the little girl first. She had to understand what was happening and have time to process it. Hence, despite his wishes, anything that is better for Brooke came first for him.

However, their plan for today had been to take Brooke out for the day, then return for dinner here. Apparently, this is not how things are going to unfold. Since that is obvious, Quinn nods and says that would be lovely. The lie wraps around his body tightly, making him feel even more unease. They shouldn't be uneasy here. Sam opts for coffee.

They sit quietly in the dining room as they wait for Hiram to return. Leroy has yet to make an appearance, which confuses both of them. Quizzical glances are thrown about until Hiram returns. "Mr. Berry, where is your partner?"

"Oh. He's out shopping. Developed a bit of an addiction!" He forces a smile. "So how has Lima been so far?"

"Awful." Sam replies honestly, receiving a glare from his company.

Hiram nods empathetically though, "I know. We're going on a cruise when you leave… it's time to try and repair, and nothing so far seems to be working."

"All I hear people telling me about is time. Who is this person, and where can I find them?" Quinn questions, but it's not a joke. The other two understand it as no other who hadn't experienced this loss would.

Sam turns back to Hiram, "How is Brooke?"

His head bobs back and forth as he finds the words, "She's so-so. Nightmares come and go, you know. She'll sometimes bring up a memory, or mention something that reminds her. Wetting the bed has become a frequent feature of our nights." His eyes meet theirs, sadness travelling across the table with his gaze, "But for the most part, she's a happy little girl."

"I suppose that's what we hope for." Sam mumbles, but it's still strange to hear. He knows that Brooke doesn't fully understand, that children adapt quickly, but how can she be coping better than him?

There's noise at the front door that Hiram goes to investigate – it's presumed to be Leroy with several tons of shopping bags. This theory is dashed however by a very loud, and very excited exclamation of:

"Quinn! Sam!"

They both turn in time to see a bundle of brown hair darting towards them. Looking at her, the wind is promptly knocked out of Sam's sails and the blood in his veins turns cold.

He had forgotten how alike them she is.

* * *

><p>(<em>Past)<em>

The summer was just coming to and end, and by god, it had been a good one. For once, it hadn't been spent in the sweltering and oppressive heat of Lima, but in the busy rush and humidity of New York. For the most part, his summer was spent with Quinn, Santana, Finn and Rachel, but there had been several big bashes where the whole Glee club was involved.

It was the seventh of August when he found out the news, and it was the day that changed his life. Sam knew it changed his friends lives the most, but it was still a day that changed everything for him, and a day that will be forever imprinted deeply upon his memory. He remembered everything about it; from the crisp, cool summer air to the smell of the fireworks, and the sweat that dotted everyone's foreheads from their erratic dancing.

It was on the roof of his and Sam's apartment building, and everyone was there. The reason being? Tina and Mike had gotten engaged, and this was the celebration that they threw for them. Puck supplied the fireworks, Santana the alcohol, Brittany the decorations, Artie the high-tech music while Mercedes supplied Mike and Tina in fine, oblivious fashion. They had no idea.

He had been having a wonderful night. He danced with Quinn several times, did shots with Puck and Finn, had a long chat with Kurt and Blaine and then he and Rachel decided to sing loudly for everyone. That prompted a sing- song, of course. Everyone said a few words for the couple of honour. (His eyes couldn't help but stray to his girlfriend during every word, because he thought the moon and stars of her, and he thought their love was one to last the times, too.)

The night wasn't spoiled by what happened next; just different. Finn approached him, suddenly looking nothing like he had earlier. The red flush across his face – signs of a good time – had disappeared to be replaced with a ghastly white shade; his eyes which were alight with the party, had died down to wide-eyed stare; and his forehead, which had been sweaty from dancing, was no dripping with what seemed to be nerves. Sam clapped him on the back, "Dude, you okay?"

"I don't know…" He trailed off, then turned to face Sam. "I think so."He nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face.

This happiness was _nothing _like the emotion from earlier; his grin stretched right across his face, his teeth on show for everyone; his eyes wrinkled at the sides to make room for his smile and his eyes reflected a bright spark. He said, in a dream-like state, "Rachel's pregnant."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Wha-what?"

"I know! That was my reaction, and that's why I moved over here but – but how could this not be a good thing? I love Rachel, I want to have children with her. As long as they get everything from, of course – especially her dancing. God, I can't believe I even doubted this was good. I have to find Rachel!"

Sam pulled him back by the arm, "You're going to be a Dad, man."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. A small smile remained on his face, filled with all the promises of the future, "I know."

"You're gonna be a Dad, man!" Sam repeated, this time with a matching grin. He pulled Finn in for a hug, and patted him roughly on the back. "You two will be the best parents ever." They separated, and Finn thanked him in a rushed manner before running to Rachel.

He turned around halfway through, and said loudly, "If she lets me, you're so being godfather,dude!"

Sam laughed. This was certainly going to change things – of course, he knew it would be for the better, and it was.

* * *

><p>AN: So, I suppose this is a quicker update than usual. I surprised myself with that, too! haha. I am just loving writing this at the moment, for reasons I can't pin. It used to be "friends" I was more into, but this is becoming more so the focus. Oh, and if you want to check out my other writing, I really rec "Friends". There's something for everyone in it! thanks so much for your reviews so far, they're really great. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
>Disclaimer: Do not own Glee or James Morrisons song, "Pieces don't fit anymore".<br>Please review,

CN


	9. IX: Empty Sounds

Chapter Nine: I whisper empty sounds in your ear, and hope that you don't let go.

Between the two of them, for as long as he can remember, the child-friendly adult has been him. He always helped out at birthdays, joined in in elaborate hide and seek games, drove four blocks for that favourite packet of sweets or created a new game completely from scratch. That's not to say Quinn isn't great with kids – she's great with _Brooke. _Outside of that, Quinn is fairly useless with any specimen under the age of seventeen. That's why, several hours later, when he and the two girls are sitting in a tiny booth in a tiny café, he doesn't understand why he just _can't._

Then again, he can completely understand. Why hadn't he noticed before how strikingly _alike _Brooke is to her parents? Everytime he glances at her, Rachel's eyes twinkle mischievously. She wrinkles her nose in distaste in response to a silly joke, but all he sees is Finn. Quinn is marvellous, picking up his slack in fine fashion, while he grapples with the idea of spending all his time with the clone of his dead friends. Some of her mannerisms even knock the air out of his lungs; they bear such an uncanny resemblance to her parents.

They'd already been to the local playground, and to a few shops. Quinn had been unwavering in listening intently to all of Brooke's stories – there had been quite a few – but he, where he is usually infallible, couldn't hear a word. The blood keeps pounding relentlessly in his ears, rendering him unable to hear a word of anything else.

He spots Quinn frowning at him, making him force a smile. Usually, their smiles are forced, yet even Sam can feel the difference this time. He can't even try. Her expression turns to one of concern, but Sam subtly waves her off. Brooke finishes chewing a chip and nudges Quinn, "Are you even listening to me, Quinnie?" She sighs exasperatedly, as if dealing with a small child, "I couldn't decide to get the purple or green colour and it was really difficult but Grandpa helped me but I think he chose _his_ favourite colour not mine."

"He chose the green?" Quinn laughs, looking down adoringly at the animated child next to her. It's the best word to describe the ball of energy; animated. Every second of every day, her face is always lit up and her eyes wide and alert. Mouth always moving.

Brooke shakes her head. Sam sharply redirects his eyes as she wrinkles her nose at Quinn's apparent foolishness, "No, silly! Purple, duh." Her eyes spot something across the room then, causing her to wiggle in her seat with excitement. "Oh, Quinn, Sammy, can I get some jelly beans? Pleease? All I need is a carter!"

"A quarter?" The blonde responds, then picks one out of her purse to pass on. She watches as the little girl squeezes past her in the booth and bounds off towards the sweets in a jar. Keeping her vision where it is, Quinn says to him, "We have to talk to her, you know. We can't just whisk her away after dinner tomorrow without talking about things." He nods, absently forgetting that she's not looking at him. She glances at him, "Sam?"

He finds words, somehow, "Yeah. Yeah, I – I guess you're right there.."

"What is up with you?" She whispers, eyes flickering to Brooke to ensure she's safe. Also, she doesn't want the girl overhearing their conversation. "You've been practically silent since we got her." When he fails to respond, because he doesn't know what to tell her, Quinn scolds him, "We have to make this a happy atmosphere for her – we have to be a _good _environment for her. I assume that's why we were chosen for the job, and not her grandparents."

A wave of nausea passes through him, which he swallows down as best as possible. He gulps thickly before replying, "I know. I'm sorry… it's.. it's.."

Her eyes become soft, her hand reaching across the table to grasp his, "What is it, Sam? If taking care of a child is too daunt—"

"No!" He blurts out, wrenching his hand back. Quinn's brows shoot up as she falls back into her seat, looking to him to continue. He says softly, "I forgot she was so like them."

"Oh, Sam, I—" She extends her arm so her hand can rest on his, but this action – and her words – are interrupted as Brooke arrives back at the table. Having scooped up her hoody to reveal the purple and white striped top underneath, Brooke dutifully carries two handfuls of jelly beans in the fold of her clothes. With careful precision, she manoeuvres herself back to her original seat and spills the sweets onto the table.

Taking one and popping it in her mouth, she says to Sam seriously, "They're good."

He cracks his first genuine smile that day, "Oh, yeah? How's about getting one in here?" He points to his now open mouth, eliciting a glorious giggle from the child. He also hears Quinn chuckle gently as Brooke makes a dramatic show out of squinting one eye shut, sticking her tongue out for that extra bit of concentration and aiming as best she can.

Of course, when she does eventually throw it, the bean sails right over Sam's head and onto the table behind them. Brooke and he duck simultaneously, leading to her smacking her hand over her mouth to stop the laughs and he holding his finger to his lips. Quinn waves at the people from the other table, "Sorry about that, you know kids," Her chuckle is nervous this time, but the neighbouring table turn back around thankfully. She rolls her eyes as Brooke sits up and bursts into uproarious laughter, pointing her finger at Sam.

"You missed! You missed!"

"That, Brookie, was nowhere near the vicinity of my mouth!"

"Vicity? What's that?"

"Vicinity, like the area." Quinn replies for him. Brooke begins to aim another one into his mouth, when Quinn puts her arm down. "Hey, no more of that. I think it's caused enough trouble. Besides, we've to go now, your grandparents are expecting you back soon."

She pouts like the child she is, "You're no fun, Quinnie,"

"Yeah, you're no fun _Quinnie._"

Quinn glares at him as she puts on Brooke's jacket, then allowing the little girl to skip ahead of them. She raises her eyebrow at him, smiling slightly, "I'm not playing permanent badcop, you know."

"But you're _so _good at it!" Sam whines as he follows them out.

(At this point, he knows that he'll get accustomed to Brooke. He'll have to act in the meantime.)

* * *

><p>As they stand in the hallway, having expertly dodged more wine for the night, Sam is at a loss as to what he should say. He knows the customary goodbye exchange is on his lips, but the threat of that being disrespectful lingers with him. Quinn glances to him, then opens her arms to hug Leroy. They hold each other for a few moments, saying wasted words of comfort in vain. Sam awkwardly turns to Hiram, extending his hand to shake it. His lips press down hard, reigning in every emotion threatening to spill onto the surface of his expression.<p>

Hiram's eyes soften, "You don't have to be so nervous, I'm not angry." Yes, Sam can remember when he first spoke to Hiram about Brooke coming with he and Quinn. Of course, it had been over the phone, but the frostiness in his tone, the ugliness of his words and the truth in his harsh reality are imprinted in his memory.

He nods, "I hope so. I—I'm only trying to do right by them." The older man nods, not getting a chance to speak as Quinn reaches over to hug him. It's brief, with neither of them having much to say. Hiram had so blatantly been the unhappiest with the arrangement, and by far the most vocal about it. Quinn isn't as forgiving as he, regardless of the circumstances.

Sam shakes Leroy's hand, extending his sympathies once more as he does so. The older man gestures for him to stop, "This is about all of us, now." He clears his throat, drawing back to stand beside his husband. Quinn and Sam stand in front, listening intently to the quiet that surrounds them. The buzz of energy had gone to sleep, leaving the adults to depart. There's an unspoken air about the couple that tells Sam he's not supposed to leave yet. There's something they want to say, but haven't found the words yet. Until they do, he must bear the suffering of the silence, as he so often does. Quinn moves subtly closer to him, brushing her arm gently against his in the process.

After several moments with just stares and glances to pass the time, Quinn has had enough. She raises her eyebrows, while her eyes flicker back and forth between Hiram and Leroy, "Shall we leave, then?"

Leroy looks at his partner, then sighs as he turns back to Quinn. "We… We don't want to offend you, but there are some things I have to say before you leave. That we have to say." He nudges Hiram, who shuffles a bit.

"You have to be good for her. There's no use in someone who's just as much a blubbering mess, she needs stability and comfort and _normality. _Crying, fighting, depression; they're things she can live without. And you know what? They are things she could do here without. We protected her as best we could, now it's your job. "

His brown eyes stare down both of them, as if having a serious talk with children about stealing, "She depends on _you two. _For everything, from now on, you are her sole providers. For all intents and purposes, you—you will be the centre of her … her whole universe." He shrugs at the end, losing some of his anger as he recalls how Rachel dominated Brooke's world. He shakes his head then, capturing their gaze again, "You're taking care of a child now. You have a child now – don't let her down. Do you understand?"

The question has more weight than one would think upon first hearing it, but both of them recognise the importance of what they're about to do. Sam see's Quinn bristle, and instantly knows she's a little offended that they think she hasn't already considered all of this. Sam, however, understands exactly why they're going through this – they're saying goodbye, and they have to ensure they said everything possible to make them understand what's happening. How important she is to them, too; clearly, Hiram wants them to know that.

Leroy jumps in then, before either of them have a chance to get a word in, "I want you to know that I couldn't have asked for better people for the job. Ever since you two were young," His voice hitches, Hiram grasps his hand. "R—Rachel always talked of you. You were her best friends, that's something I'll never forget. You were there for her, and now, you're there for her daughter. Beyond my own wishes for custody, because I realise it is better for her to be with younger people, I am glad that you are doing it. I just want you to know that.. So if you're ever struggling, or having a hard time, we're just a phonecall away – and _more _than glad to help. We won't judge, everyone has bad days."

Quinn's eyes are welling, so she swipes at them lightly, "Thank you, I appreciate that. And Hiram, believe me, I fully understand all you're saying. We'll see you tomorrow night, then."

"The Last Supper," Sam quips, feeling under pressure. He receives a subtle elbow to the gut from Quinn, and perplexed stares from the two husbands. Chuckling nervously, he bites out, "Sorry, bad habits. See you tomorrow. Thanks for all the support, and Hiram, we won't let you down. You have my word."

"I hope that counts for something," He replies, but it's not in the cold tone he usually musters up.

"In my world, that's that." He smiles, finally taking leave. As he and Quinn reach his car, he breathes a sigh of utter relief, "God. I thought I'd never get out of there."

She smacks him before walking around to her side, not saying anything until they're both seated, "Hey! None of that, they're like our in-laws now. Anyway, I'm ready to leave that tense hallway behind, let's hit the motel."

"Wow, that sounds romantic." He says in sarcastic awe.

"Oh, it is. Not that we'll be benefitting from it. But did you know, it even has a mini-bar?"

"No?" He gasps sarcastically, "We'll have to take advantage of that... especially after today."

Quinn eyes him briefly before turning once again to the road, "She reminds me of them, too. But it comforts me, knowing I get a little bit of them through her. Knowing that even if they're not here anymore, there's—there's still something of them here. She's a perfect blend, too, with no more of one than the other. I think I'll be better with her around, Sam," she says honestly.

He doesn't reply for a second, wondering what she wants him to reply with. Sam resigns himself to being just as honest, "Well, at least one of us will be." He feels her hand squeeze his forearm and strangest of all – it does provide him with a sense of comfort.

It reminds him, along with some other things, that he doesn't have to do this alone.

The remainder of the trip to the motel is uneventful, with Quinn absently playing with the stations on the radio. It's at these times that both of them regret meeting Finn and Rachel in the Glee club; had they really covered that many songs? Regardless, neither of them speak and simply enjoy the comfort of being at ease. That hasn't been a common feeling lately.

Sam can't help the guilt that shakes his bones when he thinks about how he acted with Brooke. One of the most important people in his life, and he can't even have the decency to put on a brave face. The little girl who looks to _him _now for guidance, advice, fun, comfort and everything necessary in this world, was let down by his cowardice and inability to act. He's angry at himself, but not unsympathetic.

It's an understandable reaction, he convinces himself logically. He decides in the end to focus mainly on the road, emptying his mind of everything vital and current. The open stretch of road in front of him is all he needs to know now.

As they pull into the motel, he wonders why they are staying in a motel. Both of them can afford the hotel that is just an extra ten minutes away, so why are they reducing themselves to this squalor? Sam resigns himself to the motel then, much too weary to raise the topic of moving accommodation. Neither of them move for several moments.

Quinn finally allows her hand to rest on his wrist, her thumb stroking it just once, "We can do this. We love her, and she loves us. That's all we need to know now."

He nods, taking in her words. He appreciates that she's trying to comfort her, but is angry with himself - he is supposed to be the one fixing Quinn, the woman who was cutting herself and wasting away. Sam looks at her; her hair is caught up, the end of the curly tail touching her shoulder lightly. It allows him to see her face properly, which he hasn't in a while, and he's surprised to find her skin with a new glow, her eyes with the semblance of a twinkle and her cheeks flushed. Sam realises that Brooke is going to be the best thing to happen to Quinn, and he has to adopt the same reaction. As if reading his former thoughts, Quinn speaks again, "You know it's not your job to try and fix me, don't you? It's not your job to fix everything.. you know that, right?"

Sam's eyes jump to hers, startled by her words. He had forgotten she could do that. The moment is broken as his phone rings intrusively upon the conversation. He reaches to answer it after a gesture from Quinn to do so. Sam is in such a fluster that he doesn't check caller ID, and immediately regrets that decision upon answering.

"Sam, thank god. I was worried!"

His heart drops. Guilt hits. His throat turns dry. "I'm sorry, Dina. I-I've been really busy."

He can hear the sympathy in her next words, "Oh, no, I'm sorry. I should have known you'd be swamped. How is everything? Brooke?"

Sam turns off the ignition, sitting back into the chair properly. Quinn raises her eyebrows in askance, to which he shakes his head. Somehow, she understands that this isn't a conversation that involves her, and takes her leave. Sam is left alone in the car with his thoughts, the air, the radio and his fiancé. "Um, it's alright. Nothing great... I wish I could do more for them." He only realises his words as he says them, as well as the truth in them. It feels good to talk to someone not involved in the situation.

"It's not your job to help their parents, Samuel," She says gently, her voice low.

His face screws up in confusion, "What? I know that, I'm not trying to fix... Oh. You think - no, no, I meant Quinn and Brooke."

There's a pause on the other end of the line that causes him to worry, which he doesn't really need right now. When she speaks again, her tone is completely devoid of emotion. "There are separate beds in this motel room, aren't there, Sam?"

Annoyance grips onto his words, "Of course, Dina. Did you think me and Quinn came here to jump into bed together?"

He recognises about a second too late that perhaps these words are harsh, that perhaps the cold and disapproving tone are uncalled for and that _perhaps _he should be a little more sympathetic. Dina's response only fuels this, "I'm sorry, but...but I'm stuck here. In our apartment, sleeping in an empty bed wishing you were here. You're not though; you're with your ex-girlfriend in a motel room miles away. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"Dina, it-"

"No. I know this is a hard time, Sam. I'm _trying, _I really am. But can't you try and be a little more receptive to me?"

Sam knows what she wants him to say, and in this moment, feeling so weary and tired with the world conspiring against him, he only wants to say what she wants to hear. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'm sorry."

Part of him is indignant, screaming of how he shouldn't be apologising to anyone. He hasn't done anything wrong, and yet, it seems everything wrong is done to him. The desire to end the conversation is too strong though, so he tucks away that indignation - and perhaps resentment - for now. He hears her sigh on the other end, mostly in relief it sounds like, "Thank you. I want to be there for you."

"I know. Listen, I've to go. We're just leaving the Berry's."

"Okay. I love you, Sam."

He swallows the lump in his throat with difficulty, "Yeah, I love you, too."

* * *

><p>He knew for weeks what was coming, he knew what she was brewing before she had even concocted it. He didn't know why, or how; but Sam Evans had a hunch that his girlfriend was preparing something that he wasn't ready for.<p>

On all accounts, he should be ready. She was an amazing woman; gorgeous, successful, understanding. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman – except she wasn't. He tried so many times to come around to it, to convince himself that she was what he wanted. In reality, she was just the one picking up the pieces. At the start, at least.

A year with someone left its marks though, and it wasn't long before he considered himself truly in love with her. (He had known greater love.) Yet, when the time came, when he had the time to think about whether he would do it, he thought he wasn't ready. He was sure he wasn't ready.

Sam didn't speak to anyone about it, mostly out of fear of the reply. He mulled it over silently, debating and contemplating, until he came to the decision that there was no decision. What were his true reasons for saying no? He wasn't getting younger – and while he certainly wasn't old, Sam was becoming more cynical that there was anything else out there for him beyond Dina. (anymore.)

As 'gay' as Noah Puckerman would deem it, Sam needed love. He was always a sensitive, caring person who expected the same things in life in return. He wanted to love, and be loved in return. He wanted the security, the happiness, the picket fence; he wanted the real deal. Dina was his best shot, and Sam would be damned if he let that go.

It was a crisp afternoon when it happened; the sun was low in the sky, and the wind was strong, whipping around their forms. She was forlorn because their picnic was ruined by the weather, but he wasn't the least bothered. He had always loved the outdoors; now was no different. The air was refreshing to him, while the cold was awakening. She complained about how the day was spoilt, about how she worked so hard to make it perfect.

Sam rolled his eyes, pulling her in close. She nuzzled into his neck as they sat on the blanket beside the lake, the gentle sounds of the lake lapping the shore adding to the ambiance. His hand moved rhythmically up and down her back, speaking in a soft whisper, "It is perfect. Stop worrying about everything Dina; you don't always have to try so hard. I love you."

She grew silent, her face buried in his chest still. He was content to sit in silence, and so wasn't bothered by this. He loved the days where he and Dina did this – just took off, relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. They would talk about nonsensical things, sensible things and downright ridiculous things. She would tell him about the time she wet herself during a road trip when they couldn't find toilets – they laughed uproariously – and he would tell her about the time he sang Justin Bieber to all his friends - she laughed uproariously. This time was different.

He felt her move away from him, turning to her bag and pausing there for a second. His eyes focused on her curiously, brows furrowing, "You okay there, Di?"

"Yeah." Her voice was quiet. "Actually Sam, I'm more than okay." She turned around, her dirty blonde hair flying wildly around her face with the wind. Brown eyes peeked at him apprehensively, but there was a delight in them that was hard to resist. Her dimples appeared adorably for him, while her hands fidgeted with something in her hand. Inhaling deeply, for courage, she finally unveiled the object in her hand.

A single, silver ring. There was a rather large diamond fitted into the middle, gloriously twinkling back at him mockingly in the light of the setting sun.

He couldn't speak. She did it for him, "I've never been happier than I am with you. All my life, I thought this kind of love and compatibility was a myth. I scoffed at my friends stories, and rolled my eyes at the tv, because I thought it wasn't real. But—but you make me believe in love. As cliché'd as it sounds, you make me want to shake everyone and tell them how amazing it is. You make me want to proclaim it to each and every friend _and _foe."

She shrugged, becoming embarrassed, "You make me feel lucky, loved and … and happy. Marry me?"

Sam struggled to find the words to respond. Yes, he had suspected she was gearing towards a wedding – but he thought she was going to ask _him _to propose. He thought she was going to give him a serious talk about the ring.. he never expected her to pop the question! Many of his instincts told him it was too early in the relationship, that he had unresolved issues and that he carried baggage Dina hadn't felt the full weight of yet – but as he looked into those eager, and nervous, brown orbs, he knew what his answer had to be.

There was no one else waiting for him; there was nothing else for him in the world. What was more, is that there shouldn't be. He found love, he was one of the lucky ones. He couldn't let it run away.

Glancing at the ring, Sam laughed a little, "That's a bit small, isn't it?"

A blush crept over her features, and she held it out for him to take, "That's because you put it on me. I wasn't missing the opportunity to flash a ring!"

With a large grin, Sam took the ring from her. Carefully, he slid it over the appropriate finger with precision. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the joy that overcame her then. It was then that he made a promise to himself; he would do anything to keep that expression on her face.

(Little did he know, that one day, he would be the exact reason that would make her think she'd never feel that way again.)

* * *

><p>Hey guys :) So, hope this update isn't too late for you. I tried to get it out as soon as I finished my exams! Yes, that was the reason for the delay. I only have one left now - and it's a good bit away - so I'll update again :D I'm really interested in what everyone thinks of the scenes with Dina in particular! Disclaimer: Do not own Glee or "machines" by Biffy Clyro.<br>I would really love some reviews! Thanks for the feedback so far,  
>CN.<p> 


	10. X: Don't You Ever Make Her Cry

Chapter Ten: Take good care of my baby, now don't you ever make her cry.

**_Take good care of my baby,_**  
><strong><em>Please don't ever make her blue.<em>**  
><strong><em>Just tell her that you love her,<em>**  
><strong><em>Make sure you're thinking of her,<em>**  
><strong><em>In everything that you say and do.<em>**  
><strong><em>Take good care of my baby,<em>**  
><strong><em>Now don't you ever make her cry.<em>**  
><strong><em>Just let your love surround her,<em>**  
><strong><em>Paint a rainbow all around her.<em>**  
><strong><em>Don't let her see a cloudy sky.<em>**

He enters the motel room as quietly as possible, fearing that his companion may be already asleep. He had needn't of worried though, because she's sitting on her bed with her phone against her ear. For this reason, she hasn't noticed his presence yet and is entranced by whoever is on the other line – for some strange reason, this makes Sam feel weird. Part of him puts it down to the fact that he feels as if he's intruding upon the conversation; eavesdropping. To halt these thoughts, he comes to stand in front of her and waves.

Quinn gives him a small smile, telling the other person, "Sam just came in. Yes, we're fine and I told you we wouldn't need you in Lima… Yes, I know how much you hate it here. I'll see you for lunch in New York, okay? I'm glad you're home… Heartfelt as always, Santana. Bye, see you soon." She hangs up the phone without further ado, and turns to look at him. There's an air of expectancy between them because both know this is the time for 'the talk'. They've been avoiding it the whole trip, and truly left it to the last possible minute, but it can't be evaded for any longer. That said, Sam is interested in the phone call she just had, and nods to the mobile.

"Santana?" He knows well who it was, but asks anyway.

"You heard me saying goodbye," She jokes, nudging him as she walks past. Quinn continues to her suitcase and proceeds to pick out a pair of pyjamas, "She was checking up on us. Apparently, she was under the impression we'd kill each other out here."

"To be fair, there isn't much else to do in Lima," Sam jests, giving her a grin. That, and sex, but he isn't about to make a sex joke between them. It could get far more complicated than intends, as things always seem to with he and Quinn.

"You should pass that onto the Mayor; the reasons for high crime in Lima. He'd be highly interested, I'd wager."

"Probably," Sam shrugs, "But I'll let him figure it out. I didn't know you and Santana were still close."

Quinn smiles sadly, "We haven't spoken much lately, Sam. Not that that's your fault – or mine – it's just how things unfolded. But, yes, we stayed close… she's the only other one I remained friends with."

Sensing the mood about to take a dive, Sam scrambles to change the topic. After his conversation with Dina, he only wants to avoid all things Finchel and talk a little more freely. He knows it's wrong, and he tries to fight it, but Quinn is the only person he feels completely free with these days. They're going through the exact same thing, he trusts her judgement and he knows whatever calls she makes will be for the benefit of them both. She understands what he's trying to say when he can't articulate it right, and she can sense when he just wants to chat. Sam does the same for her; it's a pattern they've fallen into this weekend.

He's glad it turned out this way, though, because it could have gone disastrously wrong. Given their history, and all its turbulence, this alliance could very well have been catastrophic. He supposes that they know how important it is to get along, but that doesn't stop him from feeling relieved it turned out so well. That's not to say they don't grate on each other's nerves occasionally – it's already happened several times – but overall, they're good. He responds with, "Good. You guys were always close. Are her and Brittany still together? I just remember them hooking up at the wedding, and that's all I know.."

"Oh no, not at all! Brittany alternates between men and women, my guess is she doesn't really know which she prefers. Santana has dated a few women.. in her business, they come in abundance. She hooks up with Brittany whenever they're in the same city though, and they keep in contact. They're still very close."

He nods, "That must be weird.. they were in love." As soon as the words leave him, he wants desperately to take them back. Those words were thoughtless, impulsive and downright stupid. If he had thought them through, he would have realised that he's doing the exact same thing.

Quinn only looks briefly at him, now in the process of packing her case, "I don't know; we seem to be doing a pretty good job of it, and it only feels a little weird, a little of the time."

Sam is speechless, so he nods again. He doesn't know what to say, and is still silently berating himself for the heedless comment in the first place, when Quinn sits beside him on her bed. Her gaze is one of concern, while her body is turned towards him. Her brow is furrowed as she asks him, "Are you alright? You looked a little pasty when you came in. As hard as it is for both of us, we have to let each other know when we're—"

"I know." He cuts in, wondering when Quinn became the sensible one between them. He's always been the more emotionally attuned one. It's beginning to irritate him how their roles have switched as of late; he's becoming Quinn, and she's becoming him. It isn't a trade he wants to make, because she's complicated and confusing, with many contradictions and stupid convictions. He sighs, "It was just Dina… it's a hard time for both of us."

"Well, it's obviously harder for you," Quinn responds instantly, and then she bites her lip, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. It's not my place, I'm—I'm sure it's difficult for her, too."

"It is.." That's all he has to say on the matter because while he doesn't like Quinn condemning his fiancé, he agrees with her. The only reason for that is that he wants sympathy and pity, no matter how demeaning it may seem to Quinn, and he's not getting it from Dina. He does know that regardless of what Quinn may think, Dina deserves some sympathy, too. It can't be easy trying to get through to him, he knows.

Quinn gestures for him to turn around as she changes into her nightwear, but he only lies down and closes his eyes. She trusts him enough to proceed with that, and he can hear the rustling of clothes beside him. He feels the weight on the bed shift, so he opens his eyes, knowing she's finished. Dressed in yellow pyjama bottoms, and a white tank top, Quinn lies down next to him. Her case is zipped closed, with all her accoutrements from the trip enclosed in it. She'll need to open it again in the morning he reminds her, but she says it makes he feel more organised. They lie like this for a while.

He's not sure how long; he just knows that time passes easily. It's moments like these that give him a brief reprise, which is surprising. Normally, any time that is dedicated to nothing leaves him thinking and thinking leads to his situation.. but with Quinn, he's at ease with everything. Even thinking about his best friends doesn't elicit such anger and misery. Misery loves company, he supposes. That's where Quinn comes in for him.

She ruins this amnesty for him, however, with her next words. "Sam, we need to talk about this. Let's get down to business." Quinn sits up on the bed, looking back at him from her height.

He can't hold it in any longer, so Sam stares up at her in confusion and asks her, "How did you become so hands-on and.. and _fine?_"

"I'm not fine, Sam," She says firmly, as if he's being ridiculous. She picks at cotton balls rolled up on her bottoms from too many washes, "I just know what has to be done."

"You know what I think has to be done?" She glances at him, silently inciting him to continue, "I think we should let go tonight. Stop compartmentalising and trying so hard, Q. You can let go here. This is the night, if ever the night, for us to talk about what we _really _need to talk about."

"What we really need to talk about is Brooke." Quinn tells him firmly, staring at the wall in front of her. She folds her arms across her chest, angling her body away from him.

Sam gets off of the bed and makes his way around to her, kneeling down in front of Quinn. As he did the day before, he takes her hands and looks into her eyes, "We need to allow ourselves some grief. I'm not letting go without you."

Quinn raises her chin, "We need to talk about Brooke first." Sam keeps his eyes on her for several more moments, trying to appeal with his expression, but her eyes studiously avoid his. Eventually, her stubbornness wins out and Sam sighs.

"Alright. What should we decide on first?" He leans back against the wall where her suitcase is, resting his arm on the blue plastic.

Quinn frowns at him, somehow annoyed at his response. Sam can never win with her and he used to love that. He loved the independent, strong Quinn but now he wants the easier, flexible Quinn from earlier. They're two different people, and he knows if he wants to see more of the nice Quinn, he'll have to get this Quinn to let go. However, Sam decides to concede for the next hour and discuss New York. It is what they've been avoiding after all, and it does need to be settled. Afterwards, Sam will provide the comfort Quinn needs. (because he knows that once they get Brooke, she'll be doing that plenty often for him.) Rolling his eyes, Sam inquires, "What's wrong?"

"Why do I have to come up with all the answers?" She doesn't _sound_ angry or annoyed though, or even look like she is anymore; Quinn sounds weary. The day is finally taking its toll on her, and while Brooke gives her the extra boost she needs to keep going, Brooke is gone now and her energy is rapidly depleting. He holds his arm out for her – the one on the other side of the suitcase – and gestures for her to sit, "Come on, you look like you need a hug."

After a second of debate, Quinn does as he asks and sits down. She tucks nicely into his side, as she always did, and rests her head on his shoulder. Sam's arm wraps around her as he strokes her arm softly, trying to provide the comfort he wants to. This position was once one of intimacy for them, and both can recall countless times they've sat like this, but the intimacy is not one of romance here, but security and reassurance; solace. Not only for her, but for him, too.

"Your mood has done a one-eighty since you first came here." She mumbles.

This surprises Sam, too, as he realises how true it is. "Yeah, I know. I think it's … I think it's just you. Having someone who understands." He adds the ending hastily, feeling her still in his arms. Sam's aware of how she's feeling, because he's feeling it, too; they have to be careful. It's too easy for both of them to fall back into what they once were, and that turned out unfavourably for both of them. He has a fiancé, she has her own life; they're not _Quinn and Sam _anymore. They can't be again, either.

"I get that." Quinn nods. She waits another few seconds before bringing up New York, "Will we have to live together?"

"I don't know how that's going to work… I mean, I live with Dina. I think Brooke needs us both now though."

"I agree.. and I'd like to have Brooke at my place. I have a spare room. You heard Leroy, she's been having nightmares, so for the first while she'll probably crawl in next to me. You can take the spare room.." He doesn't respond, because Sam doesn't know what to say. He can't agree to anything in reality without discussing it with his girlfriend. Anything less wouldn't be fair to her. "Of course, Dina will have a key and can stay whenever she pleases, too. We'll explain the entire situation to Brooke."

"Your place it is." He says, feeling that there's no other option. As much as he's sure Dina will hate this situation, he knows she'd hate Quinn living in their house more. It's their personal, private abode and she won't want an ex-girlfriend sleeping around in it. "What about who picks her up from school?"

"Well, I could do it on Mondays and Tuesdays. Your work is flexible, isn't it? Maybe you could do it the other days?"

Sam agrees easily, being that his job is utterly flexible. Also, he wants to pick her up from school. He's done it enough times to know how great it is to see her face light up when she spots you. All this talk is making him antsy though, and he determines that he no longer wants to discuss Brooke. Sam wants to wing it when they get there – because there is no special recipe for what is to come, there is no way of defining the next steps or predicting what everything will be like. They have to take things step by step.

That's why he says the next words. "How do you eat an elephant?"

Quinn lifts her head from his shoulder, looking up at him quizzically. He's surprised he hasn't used this anecdote on her before, in all their years of friendship and otherwise. She raises her eyebrow, so Sam gives her the answer, "Bit by bit. We don't have to know all of this today. We don't have to figure it all out now so – so let's just leave it. Please?"

He knows her. She likes to be prepared. She likes to be informed. She hates surprises, not knowing, and being taken aback… Quinn hates expressing any outward emotion she perceives as weak. Given all of this, he's surprised when she only nods and leans back against him. They say nothing for a few minutes, then Quinn breaks it. In a slightly terse, hoarse and shaky tone, "I-I think I'm ready to let it out now, Sam." She looks up at him, her eyes shining with glossy tears, "I think I want to talk about them."

* * *

><p>Their last dinner with the Hummels and Berry's is quite uneventful, and mostly consists of Brooke telling vibrant stories of her day. When she isn't spewing tales of what she's been up to, she's telling them about the "awesome" dream she had last night, or the fantasy story she's going to write when she's able to write. They're all thankful for her incessant chatter - at least Sam knows he's never been more grateful.<p>

It's easier to look at her than yesterday, but he can't quite act the same. He hasn't been able to talk to her directly yet, or ask her a question, or even listen to these accounts properly because she takes his breath away – and not in a good way. He loves her, more than anything in the world, so resolves to work tirelessly to right this. He doesn't have much choice anyway, truly.

As dinner finishes up, they bid goodbye to the Hummel's. Carole is teary and Burt is stoic, the latter giving them strong advice and clapping Sam on the back in encouragement. Carole is so fraught with emotion that neither of them can understand a word she says, but nod in agreement nonetheless. Brooke is safely tucked away in the living room with Spongebob at this point, having already said goodbye to her grandparents. Quinn and Sam know the hardest part is coming up; leaving.

The four remaining adults take the four-year old into the dining room once more, the table having been cleaned up, and seat her at the top of the table. This was as per her request, of course. Brooke looks around at them in anticipation, her smile as radiant as always. It breaks his heart to see her so happy, in both dismay and joy. Quinn glances to each of the adults, and then says gently to Brooke, "Your grandfathers have told you you're coming home with us now, right Brookie?"

She nods fervently, "Yup! I'm going back to New York." Her toothy grin flashes back at them, the excitement evident in her voice. "I can't wait to get back to all my dollies, and my bed! You know my bed has Dora on it and grandpa's doesn't so I can't wait to sleep in mine again! I misseded it Dora."

Identical expressions of dread flood the table. Hiram touches his granddaughters shoulder lightly, "Brooke, you're not going back to your house. You're going to live with Sam and Quinn, like I told you. Remember?"

"But we're living in my house.. aren't we?" The lost child looking up at them makes every adult wish they were a child, too. Then, they wouldn't have to deal with the atrocity that occurred to this child.

"I'm sorry, honey, but no. We're going to get your things, and live in my house. You love my house, remember? It has a TV that's bigger than you!" Quinn exclaims, remembering that being its selling point for her goddaughter. "And of course, we'll make sure Dora is on your bed again. You'll have a new bedroom to paint whatever colour you want!"

Brooke folds her arms crossly, "My Mommy painted my old room! She painted it the colour I wanted it and I loved it and she said I could keep that room for as long as I wanted! I still want it!" Tears are gathering in her eyes suddenly, springing from those chocolate brown eyes like water from a fountain. Sam, being the closer of him and Quinn to her, has no hesitance in pulling the little girl on to his lap. She cries quietly into his shirt, soaking it in swift time, as the four other people in the room swap stares.

None of them have felt so desperate to fix someone since that night at the hospital, when each of them wanted to fix the ones lying on the operating table.

* * *

><p>It was one of those lazy, hazy Sunday afternoons in New York. Five friends lounged around in a newly decorated sitting room, the fumes from the paint only just vanishing. There was four large windows facing the city, overlooking the bustling citizens below as they completed their life in a rushed and demanding fashion. Usually, they were among those people, but today was their day off.<p>

They often spent Sundays together, but this one was of particular interest. This particular Sunday was arranged weeks in advance by one Rachel Berry, who had demanded their presence to settle the very urgent matter at hand. Granted, she deemed a lot of issues urgent lately, but apparently this day actually was important – Finn had vouched for it.

See, today was the day that Finn and Rachel were finally going to decide on their unborn childs name. They just needed some help from their friends, because so far, they didn't agree at every point. There were two girls names they agreed on but couldn't decide between, while they each had a boys name that they couldn't agree on.

The couple had insisted on keeping the gender a surprise, despite pleads from Kurt to find out. He wanted to decorate the nursery accordingly, and was 'devastated' by their decision to keep it a secret. He even volunteered to ask the nurse and not tell them, but they knew that would never work. The curiosity would eat away at Rachel.

Rachel sat relaxing on the longest couch, her arm resting on the side. She was eight months pregnant now, with a perfectly round bump. She looked just as you would imagine pregnant; tiny. Her bump was such a small, perfect little bulge that one could be convinced it was fake. (They had, in fact, had fun with that before.) She was wearing a light red day dress, with a white band just above her bump, and knee-high white socks that ensured she never lost her sense of style.

Finn sat next to her, his hand occasionally straying to her stomach to feel his child kick. He had been a very involved and caring boyfriend through the whole pregnancy, and catered to Rachel's every need and whim. This was often to the amusement of his best friend, Sam Evans. Sam himself sat on the couch across from him, watching Rachel with interest as she waited to begin her story. He knew the gist of the problem, but apparently, not 'enough'.

He had already been named the godfather, which honoured him. Especially given that Kurt, who sat on the single armchair in the house, was desperate to be godfather. He had wanted to spoil the baby senseless, but the parents had both ensured him that they had no qualms with him still doing that. The godmother sat under his arm, her hand tracing his abs absently as her eyes followed Kurt as he entered the kitchen. It was the ultimate cliché, he knew, but Quinn fit so perfectly under his arm that he had no doubt she belonged there.

Kurt returned with tea and coffee for the four not-pregnant adults, and a lemonade for Rachel. She sighed upon receiving it, remarking lightly, "I can't wait for some coffee in my system again."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "You never even liked it that much before you were pregnant."

"Don't it always seem, that you don't know what you got till it's gone," Rachel sang back in retort, and then stuck her tongue out. Quinn only laughed and took a sip of her tea, not willing to say anymore on the subject.

Sam decided to speak up, "So, Rach, what are the names up for selection?"

"Well, you know that the name has to be perfect. Both Finn and Rachel are very traditional names, and while we wanted our child to have that, they have to have meaning. Of course, I now want something that would really make this baby stand out – forget about traditional, think about _star _–"

"But I pointed out that that's her dream, not our childs.." Finn reminded her, seeing as she was getting lost in the name again. He shook his head, looking to his friends, "She wanted to name our kid _Stella._"

"Oh, that is precious!" Kurt immediately exclaimed, earning a glare from Finn.

"No, it's mean. The kid would be bullied senseless!"

"Sam, don't be so silly, no one would bully our child. If it was a girl named Stella, she would be so lovely and gorgeous that no one would think twice to cross her. She'd be like Quinn."

Quinn blinked, realising they were talking about her, "I think you've got me confused with someone else.."

"Quinn is a weird name," Sam nodded, receiving a serious nod from Rachel in return. She was happy to be on the same wavelength as _someone. _

"Hey, none of that from you. Just because you got a boring and conventional name." Quinn joked, but instantly regretted it when he took his arm away. The loss of comfort and warmth was felt tenfold, and she sent him her best apologetic expression. Of course, it wasn't sincere, so he only grinned.

"Can we return to the important topic here? As I was saying, I wanted a name that meant something. However, what would I want the name to mean? I don't want to put too much pressure on my child –"

"So name them star. Logical." Kurt cut in, appearing sceptical.

She looked annoyed for a moment, but breezed on, "and that is where our problem really lies."

Finn finally said what they were waiting for, "We can't decide between Paris and Aislinn for a girl. For a boy, Rachel wants Atticus. How boring is that? I want Armani – it means _freeman. _How cool is that?"

There was a funny kind of silence that followed his words, during which Rachel surveyed their expressions. She threw her hands in the air then, "Oh, you hate them! You hate our childs name. Oh, it's not fair," Tears began to build in her eyes, and she swatted them away valiantly.

Sam shook his head ardently, "No, no! They're just .. not…great. I mean, Paris, really?"

"It's a lovely city," Rachel sniffed.

Quinn scoffed, "Call her Lima then. At least that's where she came from."

"Number one, Lima is _not _a lovely place." Rachel told her haughtily, "And secondly, the baby does not come from Lima. He or she comes from New York."

"Conceived in Brooklyn, right, Rachel?" Sam winked at her, referencing to how the baby was conceived in the hotel room of their weekend away. It had been a celebration for Burt and Carole's marriage, but Finn and Rachel made it more than just a celebration for that. (They had been sharing a room with Sam and Quinn, who caught them in the act, and the latter two frequently enjoyed mocking the other two over it. This only increased following Rachel falling pregnant.)

Rachel didn't reply though, she was sitting slack-jawed in her seat, frozen. Finn began to get worried as the second ticked by, panicked by the thought of contractions or her water breaking. A quick check of how dry the couch was determined that her water hadn't broken, but Finn continued to panic and wave his hand in front of her face. "Rachel? Rach? It was just a joke! Are you okay?"

"Oh, Sam!" She exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. "You're just wonderful sometimes, you know?"

"Er, yes. Sure… Why, again?"

"Yes, why?" Quinn echoed, but it was only in jest. Sam pulled her back into his arms abruptly, savouring the warmth she provided, too. He'd never voice it aloud yet, but what the couple in front of him had, he knew he'd one day have with the woman under his arm. She was it for him, and they were meant to have a child exactly like Finn and Rachel were.

"Isn't Brooke the perfect name, Finn?" She asked him, her eagerness rebounding on everyone in the room. "There's not a lot of pressure with that meaning, and yet, it has plenty of personal meaning.. not to mention that it's not so strange that she'd be bullied in any way!"

After repeating it several times, Kurt nodded, "It's perfect! It's stylish, and yet, has a private meaning, too. It's not nonsensical style."

Quinn smiled, "I would love to have a goddaughter named Brooke. God knows she'll be the most loved and lucky child I know!" The thought of Beth echoed through the room, but no one brought it up – no one ever did, and for good reason. It was something only spoken of very privately with Quinn, meaning that Sam was usually the only one to ever discuss the child with her.

Finn got as excited as Rachel then, speaking to her stomach animatedly and asking the baby if they liked the name. Everyone started to feel the excitement then as the name was picked, discussing at great length how the room was to be decorated – Kurt would spell the name out along the wall above her crib – while Quinn would paint a beautiful array of girlie designs on the other, Sam and Finn would construct the crib and Rachel would oversee the whole event.

It was fifteen minutes into this lively discussion that Kurt abruptly ended it, "God, we are so screwed if you have a boy."

Five seconds of silence. Then, Finn: "Damn. Never thought of that."

* * *

><p>AN: So, this wasn't too long of a wait, was it? :D I enjoyed writing the flashback here, I'd love to know what you thought. As for the names, Aislinn means dreams. Didn't get it into the dialogue, but there you go. I hope you enjoyed that chapter, and thank you for reading :) I don't own Glee or "Take Good Care of my Baby" by Bobby Vee. I strongly recommend reading those lyrics, because they relate to the chapter! If you haven't already, please read them? haha.. Thanks again for reading!

I would love some more reviews :)  
>CN.<p> 


	11. XI: I'll Hold You Tightly

Chapter Eleven: I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth. You are my one and only, you can wrap your fingers around my thumb, and hold me tight.

"I gotta go. I mean, I _really _gotta go!"

There's an urgency in her tone that makes Sam sigh, signal to turn left and enter the next village. He can honestly say it has been the most interesting car journey he's ever had. Except, interesting is putting it quite mildly and understating the whole situation. He's been through a barrage of emotions, including anger, irritation, amusement and affection. He's a little irritated right now, because if Brooke hadn't got a bladder the size of a peanut, they would be well home by now. Having to stop at various towns and villages that they could have otherwise bypassed definitely makes a journey longer.

One must know, of course, that girls can't pee outside. Or so Brooke tells him, and is strongly supported by Quinn.

To her credit, Quinn drove the last hour and a half, but upon his request handed the wheel to him again. Quinn's a god awful driver, but he hasn't told her enough times yet to make her care. Brooke is fidgeting restlessly in the back as she repeatedly informs them of her precarious condition. He wishes Quinn would stop giving her juice boxes, then maybe they'd get home by tomorrow.

The only good to come from all of this, is that they're all suitably distracted from anything pressing and depressing. There's so much constantly going on in their little car, mostly thanks to Brooke, that their minds barely have a moment's peace to reflect. This, he supposes, is good because the fact that he's taking his best friends child to live with him is beyond comprehension - and to do this all with the girl he once proclaimed was the love of his life isn't easily processed.

Brooke hasn't brought up the living arrangements since they spoke in the Berry's dining room. Neither he nor Quinn want to remind her. "Guys," She whines, holding herself in a very ungraceful manner. Quinn only says something somewhat soothing and points out a little restaurant for them to stop at.

The car has barely stopped when Brooke tears off her belt and bolts out the door, leaving Quinn to rush after her hastily. Sam takes the time to kick back, turn up the radio and close his eyes for a second. He feels like he's been on the go for days, and truth be told, wants nothing more than to see his bed. However, he recognises that this fantasy may just be that from now on; a fantasy.

Four songs play in the time that it takes for the girls to return. Brooke looks satisfied, a wide smile stretched across her dainty face. The source of this joy of course comes not only from the large cookie in her left hand, but also the large bottle of orange juice in the other. Sam sends his companion a terse look, to which she simply shrugs.

"We had to buy something to use the toilet." Is all she says, sliding into the passengers seat. He stares at her for a moment longer in disbelief, and then starts then engine again.

Sam can't help but mutter, "Had to be the juice again." He spots the small quirk of Quinn's lips as he pulls out, listening to the crunching of his goddaughter in the back. It's funny how they're interacting, because they go back and forth between laughing at/with each other, and blaming each other. Either way, Quinn and Sam know where they stand and what they have to be for the child in their custody.

Brooke, in between chewing, pipes up then, "Can we make cookies when we get back?"

"Not right away," Sam answers first, appearing apprehensive. "Someday though, definitely."

She's quiet then, surprised they hadn't catered to her every whim. Quinn looks at her in the rear-view mirror, studying the small girls expression. She wants to make her happy in every possible way, but within reason. It's already six o'clock, and there's still one more hour of driving to go; there's no way they'd have time to bake. Not to mention that Quinn is in no state to operate a cooker, nor is Sam.

"Am I going to live with you forever?" Brooke's voice is quiet, and her eyes aren't glued to theirs like they usually are. Instead, she's examining her shoelaces with great intensity.

Quinn shares a glance with Sam, and then says firmly, "We're not going anywhere B, and you're going to stay with us for as long as you want."

Another beat of silence. "What if I want to go home?"

Sam and Quinn are aware that she doesn't mean Lima, but to her home with Finn and Rachel. Sam is completely lost for words, still having trouble looking Brooke in the eye, and opens his mouth several times but comes up speechless. Quinn, luckily for him, replies. "We're going to try and make our new house your home Brooke, and we'll do anything to make you feel at home."

Brooke falls back against the couch again, once again being uncharacteristically quiet. She sighs laboriously and then frowns, "Uh-oh." Sam catches her eye briefly in the mirror, and raises his eyebrows. "I gotta go again."

* * *

><p>Brooke is fast asleep when they make it home. Her legs are sprawled across the seat awkwardly, because of the seatbelt tying her in, and her neck lies at an uncomfortable angle to the left. He silently elects himself as the one to carry her in, while Quinn retrieves their bags. Brooke has more baggage than one would think, and Quinn has a little hassle in gathering everything up in one trip. He would have just done two trips, Sam thinks to himself, but Quinn is too stubborn for that.<p>

He stands waiting for her at the door because she has the keys. Quinn takes her time climbing the small flight of stairs, given that the lift is out-of-service, and this leaves Sam alone with Brooke. Reluctantly, he risks a glimpse at her small heart-shaped face, her tiny upturned nose and almond-shaped brown eyes, which are hidden by weary lids. His heart clenches at the sight. Even in her sleep, she reflects his best friends.

He wishes he could see it more positively than he does – like Quinn. As the thought enters his mind, Quinn finally enters the threshold. Her apartment is on the second floor meaning that the trek wasn't too bad for her, but she still gives him a glare as she dumps the cases and bags on the floor. Huffing, Quinn pulls her key out of her purse and unlocks the door swiftly.

She leaves their belongings in the corridor, making it clear that Sam has to carry them in. He groans, shifting Brooke in his arms in order to fit through the door, and wonders when Quinn considered him chivalrous and her unable to carry some bags.

After some initial, yet quick, squabbling, Sam carries their possessions into the sitting room and closes the door. Brooke is on the couch at this point, having not awoken through the move. Quinn and Sam stare blankly at one another, whilst glancing at the child every few moments. "What now?" resonates all around them, even if it remains unspoken.

Quinn shrugs in response to silence, "I'll carry her into my room. She can sleep there for the first night, especially since she hasn't been introduced to her new room yet; I wouldn't want her waking up in a strange place with no one familiar." They both know Brooke has slept in Quinn's spare room before, but neither argue.

Sam nods, "Sounds good. I'll take the spare room then… just call me, or whatever, if you need me. If anything happens." He sounds slightly reluctant to surrender Brooke to Quinn, but finds himself surprised at his acting. Sam is actually glad for the reprieve; he needs a break from his goddaughter. As horrible as that sounds, Sam is completely frank about how she reminds him of what he has lost. He reckons that though he doesn't say it, Quinn understands that.

She's grown to be so understanding. He feels as if he's grown to be demanding, but knows deep down that's not true.

* * *

><p>Quinn slips into the bed next to Brooke that night, prepared for a long sleep and a peaceful one, at that. She took her time in getting ready for bed, wanting to make sure Brooke was definitely asleep before crawling in next to her. Although she has a double bed, she remembers how the girl invades the bed. Aside from this, Quinn is far too tired to deal with a questioning Brooke and simply wants some sleep.<p>

She's surprised to find Brooke crawled up in a ball when she arrives at her bed, as it's a change to how she previously slept. Putting it down to ageing, Quinn climbs in and faces the girl. She's not sure how much time passes – sleep doesn't come, and she doesn't feel as weary as she did – but Quinn is perfectly content in watching the rise and fall of Brooke's form as she breathes. In her slumber, all of Brooke's excitement, joy and curiosity has vanished from her expression.

While that's not ideal, her expression is also void of any confusion, hurt or loss. She looks peaceful, and Quinn knows that that's hard to come by with this angel.

Gently tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear, Quinn kisses her forehead and decides to wait for sleep. Her eyes flutter close, only to jump open as Brooke scoots across the bed to be closer again. Snuggling into Quinn's chest, she mumbles a sleepy, "I love you, Quinnie. Nighty night.."

The words are slurred, drunk with sleep, but Quinn hears them nonetheless. Her chest constricts and her eyes burn with the heat of a thousand suns, but she holds Brooke tighter. "I love you, too, B."

* * *

><p>"You guys are here again!" Finn smiled gaily, walking in front of them without a care in the world. In reality, of course, he had plenty of worries and cares, but Finn wasn't in the realm of reality. In the hospital, only his family existed, and he loved it that way. He tried to make that atmosphere thrive in his home from then on, too.<p>

His beautiful and perfect daughter came into the world two days before, but was being kept in due to her being a first-born, and she had a mild case of jaundice. Finn didn't mind though; she was fine, and still absolutely flawless. He would do everything in his power forever to protect her.

Quinn and Sam trailed behind him, hand-in-hand, as they had everyday since she was born. They couldn't keep away from their goddaughter – not that either he or Rachel minded. Brooke wasn't with Rachel anymore though, as Mommy needed her rest, but the others could still visit. He greatly enjoyed sending his daughter adoring glances through the glass, even if she didn't even know he was there. She'd know someday that he'd always be there for her; he just had to make sure he made that impression from the very start.

Quinn and Sam seemed much the same, but the former was a little more melancholy today. Finn didn't want to pry, so he simply pointed out the perfect being that he and Rachel created. _He, _Finn Hudson, had created something so beautiful with his girlfriend. It was scarcely to be believed.

Sensing that this wasn't a time for chatter, Finn decided that he would check on Rachel. Waving goodbye to his daughter, he turned to his friends, "If you stay for a while, you can hold her later. We get limited time due to the jaundice, but it's not contagious or anything," Finn said this as if they would have been scared of that prospect.

Sam sent him a tired sort of smile, "Thanks, dude. Congrats again, she's amazing." His hand was firmly gripping his girlfriend, almost as if he were preventing her from blowing away like a balloon in the wind.

"I know, right?" Finn grinned. "Take as long as you want down here. Visit Rachel, too, maybe… She's dying to tell people about how Brooke's foot moved to the beat of her singing."

Quinn raised her brow at Finn, "She does know that—"

"Hey, Rachel saw it. She knows rhythm when she see's it," Finn responded happily, before clapping them both on the back and taking his leave.

The lack of his presence was immediately felt by the couple, who were staring at their goddaughter with vastly differing expressions. Sam took a break from this after several minutes and looked at his girlfriend, whose beautiful features were marred by a look of sadness and bereavement. He squeezed her hand, "You know you did the best you could."

"I know," She whispered, "But it doesn't make it any easier."

She didn't want him to hear the crack in the voice, but there had been no escaping it. Swiftly, Sam brought her into his chest and held her there. She didn't move, simply stood inhaling his comfortingly familiar scent. "I do love Brooke. So, so much. I would do anything for her already, and she's not even my child. I just wish – I wish I could do the same for Beth."

"You committed the most selfless act for Beth, Quinn." He pulled away, lifting her chin so he could look at her in the eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes had always held his attention – hell, they enraptured most anyone they came in contact with. Sam was no exception; he was only a mere mortal, after all. Brushing his thumb across her cheek to rid a determined tear, he told her sincerely, "I don't believe you could have done anything better for Beth."

Sam wasn't aware of it at that time, but Quinn Fabray swore right then that the next child she had would be with Sam Evans.

(Unfortunately for them, it wasn't quite under the circumstances she had imagined.)

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Small Bump" by Ed Sheeran.<p>

A/N: Hey everyone, I'm terribly sorry for the long wait for this update! I hope it satisfies. The story will mainly revolve around these three characters and their interactions now, with maybe some guest appearances - any guesses as to who? haha... I would like to just say that unfortunately, I know children who have lost their mother recently and are the same age as Brooke. Her reactions to this situation will be largely modeled upon their reactions.

Anyway, please excuse the tardy update. Thank you so much for your reviews so far, please keep them coming! Thanks for reading also, hope you enjoyed it.  
>CN. <p>


	12. XII: How to be Something You Miss

Chapter 12: All I know is, I don't know how to be something you miss.

**_(Two Weeks Later)_**

He likes to think that he knows the two ladies next to him very well. After all, they've been a part of his life for so long now. Albeit, at different periods of his life, but both Brooke and Quinn have helped and contributed in forming what he is today. He's spent hours with them talking, days with them lounging and they've even exchanged secrets.

Taking all of this into account, he's startled the next morning at what he sees. Quinn, though always a morning person, is humming a tune quietly while Brooke sits forlornly at the table. Quinn hasn't partaken in the singing of any song in a long time and Brooke is usually full of energy in the mornings. Confusion reigning, he joins Quinn in making the breakfast.

She's lost in her thoughts and music, causing him to nudge her in order to gain her attention. For the slightest of seconds, he remembers how beautiful she is even in the mornings. She has a style and aura of loveliness in the mornings that most women don't possess. However, this thought passes as quickly as it comes, and Sam moves on. His eyes flicker to Brooke, and Quinn understands his question. "I won't let her have ice-cream for breakfast." She says, ignoring Brooke's huff as she hears this news again.

He chuckles, turning to Brooke and scooping her up into his arms, "Brookie cookie, you can't have ice-cream for breakfast! That's madness!"

His heart aches when she sticks out her tongue at him; flashes of Rachel invade his vision. "Grandpa let me have what I want."

"It's time to go back to normal food now though, Brooke." Quinn tells her firmly, setting down pancakes and strawberry syrup on the table. Sam raises an eyebrow at her; that's hardly the healthiest breakfast food.

"I don't like strawberry syrup." Brooke insists, sticking her nose up at it.

Quinn inhales patiently, "I've given you this for breakfast before. You do like it."

"Well I don't like it anymore. I want ice-cream. I want chocolate-chip pancakes!"

Sam sends Quinn a helpless glance, totally at a loss of what to say. His goddaughter has never behaved so badly before, and it shocks him to see her act out. He reasons that he should have expected this; he should have known her behaviour would take a turn for the worst after such a tragedy. He wishes the Berry's had told him though, because this is so unexpected that he's not sure of how to react.

Brooke's always been the cheerful, chirpy and happy child who came with minimal fuss. She ate nearly anything that was put in front of her – whether it was edible or not, he found out several times – and she never answered back so defiantly. Rachel was strict with her, but never found the need to be harsh because Brooke usually obeyed. Of course, she was always a mischievous child, but not to the point of deliberately disobeying and refusing to co-operate with her guardians. He's lucky that Quinn is there, because she remains resolved. "Brooklyn Hudson, stop that right now. It's breakfast time and you have to eat what we make for you. Is that understood? No more of this diva business."

Large, fat tears rush to the younger girls eyes. She tugs on her bottom lip as it shakes, "I—I'm sorry, Quinnie. My – my tummy feels funny," She complains, her hand going to rub the aforementioned area.

Quinn leans forward to take the girl into her arms, "Ssh, it's okay. I know you feel sad, but don't know why or what you want. Tell me and Sam when you feel like this, okay? We don't want to give out to you."

Brooke buries her head in Quinn's chest, nodding into it as she sniffs heavily. The blonde strokes her hair softly, telling her that everything is going to be okay. Sam himself feels the weight in his chest lessen at those words; _everything is going to be okay._

Yet, he can't move from the spot he's glued to. All he's done throughout the entire exchange is release Brooke from his arms, and watch the carnage unfold. It frustrates him that he can't be the one Brooke receives comfort from, it makes him want to scream how he isn't the loving and comforting person in her life that he once was. It hates how he can't be the Sam she knows, how he's only making things worse for his little goddaughter by being so estranged.

But he's still standing in the same spot, watching her cry into his companion's shirt.

* * *

><p>It had been decided fairly quickly that they had to make Brooke has comfortable as possible, especially with her outburst this morning. They can't imagine the pain she's feeling, the confusion and loss that comes with it only furthering the problems. Sam needs to provide some sort of aid to her, and so proposes that they take the plunge and visit the house.<p>

He knows he has gotten himself into deep waters. He hasn't been to the house since the day before the accident, and for good reason because it scares him. The memories and recollections tucked into the corners of that house are almost too much to handle – but he must do it. Brooke is half asleep in the back of the car, and Quinn is staring out the window of the passenger's seat. Once she had calmed the girl down, it had been relatively easy to get her ready for the day. She returned to their Brooke, chatting constantly about things that they sometimes didn't even understand.

For some reason, Sam was surprised when Brooke said she was excited to go 'home'. He's worried that she thinks her parents are there, and wants to vocalise this but can't for fear of revealing his own shortcomings. Part of _him_ still wants to believe they're having a few weeks to themselves in that house, that they're trying for child no. 2 or that they're working on something for Rachel's shows, or Finn's glee club.

Quinn turns back to see a sleeping Brooke, then says to him quietly, "Do you think we should wake her?" He nods, but doesn't say anything. All that one can hear is the low hum of the car as it breezes along the road. Quinn changes this by speaking again. "I don't want to go here."

He'd be lying if he said he expected her to say that. Of course, he knows she feels it, but it's an entirely different matter to actually vocalise these sentiments. Quinn doesn't speak of feelings so freely – or last time he was with her she didn't, at least. She's either changed, or she has the same approach to their new relationship that he does; they're in this together, and they have to be honest. He returns the honesty, "Me neither. It has to be done sooner or later though, not to mention that Brooke wants this." She makes a noise of agreement. There's a small pause during which they both reflect, with him then saying to Quinn, "I think we need this, too. Closure, maybe."

"It won't be that easy," She replies tiredly, returning to admiring the view out the window. It's New York though, and there's not much to admire that she hasn't seen before. She's done this trip as many times as him, which is saying something. He visited this house weekly, if not more, and he had no doubts that Quinn did the same.

As they pull into the driveway of the house they know so well, Quinn places her hand over his, without looking at him. He tries to catch her eye and give her an encouraging, albeit shaky, smile.

After taking a deep breath, they wake Brooke from her slumber and give her a few seconds to realise where they are. He can see the exact moment where she recognises the area, as her eyes light up and her smile grows to an alarming size. She rips off her seatbelt and throws open the door, eagerness rebounding through the car from her. Brooke's steps are fast and rushed as she runs to the door, knocking on it relentlessly.

Before exchanging one last uneasy glance, Quinn and Sam come up behind her. Quinn pulls her back gently, telling her they have to unlock it. He rattles around in his pocket to find the wretched keys the Berry's had handed him, cursing how shaky his hands seem to be. Once he locates the key, he opens the door with ease.

Brooke rushes in, exploring all rooms with renewed zest. "It's so clean! I lefted all my toys on the floor and now they're all cleaned up! Who does-ed that?"

"Who did it?" Quinn repeats, subtly correcting her grammar. "A cleaner I think, B. Do you want to get some things from your room?"

"Yep! My bad dollies are probly' missing me."

"Your bad dollies?" Quinn asks in amusement as Brooke grabs her and Sam's hands and proceeds to drag them up the stairs – much to their absolute chagrin.

"My bad dollies. They always take Quinnie's shoes!"

Understanding that these are dolls she's talking about, Sam comes to the conclusion that his expertise does not reach this particular topic. Upon reaching this deduction, he remains silent as they are pulled down the hallway and into Brooke's room.

It's exactly as he remembers, but so different, too. The soft, pink walls are as soothing as always while the array of cuddly toys and dolls assure that half of the room's walls and floor are unseen. Pink seems to cloud his vision, with almost everything in the room possessing the colour somewhere. He moves to sit on her bed, but notices the Dora covers and can't bring himself to. Why evades him, but nonetheless he remains standing.

Hands in his pockets, he watches Quinn hold open the black bag for Brooke to put her toys into. The girl doesn't seem as bothered as he thought she would, which puzzles him. He supposes children work differently to adults – breakfast time might be a difficult affair and raise memories for her, but returning to the home where most her memories with her parents were made doesn't make her blink twice.

He longs to feel the same in the home, because currently, his heart is beating so erratically that he worries they can hear it; his hands are buried in his pockets only to stop the shaking; his eyes are in pain from restraining tears, while his chest constricts with a fresh feeling of loss.

Quinn senses this, and gestures for him to help, "You can't leave me with all the work, Evans."

Taking the bag from her, he doesn't question when she leaves the room. Brooke doesn't say anything, only keeps chucking items towards him. She appears to be deeply in thought over what she wants, and what she wants to leave behind. He doesn't understand why she's leaving some of her dolls here, and so questions her on it. Very simply, Brooke tells him, "They're my Mommy's favrite' dollies."

He fails to respond because he doesn't know how. The rest of the time in Brooke's room is spent in silence on his part, but she more than makes up for it with nonsensical chatter regarding certain toys names, why they were put in the bold corner once and how she knows they're better than 'Kendra Lally's' toys because _her_ dolls don't speak like grown-ups. Very intricate details, one must know.

Quinn returns, and had he not known her like he does, he would fail to notice the slight pink hue surrounding her eyes, or the indents upon her lip from biting down harshly. His eyes soften, but they don't say anything. There's no real need to.

She sniffs, as if gathering herself, and clears her throat. "I think it's time to go, B. Have you got everything? Do you want to bring your covers?"

Brooke looks over to her bed and pauses, thinking seriously about it. "Yes." She says decidedly, "Dora needs me."

"She sure does," Quinn says softly, smiling.

It isn't much long after that they're leaving. His head still hurts as they pass the photographs along the stairway, reflecting the laughter and friendship experienced by them. He sees the scratch at the end of the stairs on the wall and recalls the time he and Finn drunkenly tried to carve their names into the wall. He spots the dark blue engravings from a younger Brooke beside the front door, and instantly snippets of the day she decided to be a painter strike him. The lock on the door reminds him of the time – just last year – that he and Quinn accidentally visited at the same time, causing him to fumble with the door several times to try escape.

The glass pane beside the door is still the exact same as they left it; polished, pristine and portraying the 'image' Rachel always talked about. When he came over after work, Brooke used to press her nose up against the glass waiting for him. Of course, it fogged up constantly and she often became frustrated with having to wipe down her breath from the glass all the time. As soon as she saw him though, she would give him that toothy smile and wave vigorously until he returned it.

Every time until she was four, she would show him her room when he arrived – as if he hadn't seen it several times over the last two weeks.

Quinn gently brings him back to the present when she takes his elbow and guides him out the door after Brooke. They all climb into the car, the adults silent and the child talking, buckle themselves in and sit for a moment.

Quinn raises her hand almost regretfully, and says so Brooke can hear, "Bye for now, house." After copious amounts of waving to an inanimate object (but it's so much more than that), he turns on the ignition and pulls away.

The laughter from the house echoes around him the whole way back. He doesn't hate it.

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"Hey you, how are you?"

He still can't find the pleasure he used to upon hearing her voice. "Oh, hey, Dina. I'm okay. We went to the house today, I think it helped Brooke."

"That's good," She says soothingly, "How did you find it?"

He gulps, not wanting to tell her the truth of how it completely threw him. "It was hard. Are you okay?"

Sam knows she's nodding on the other end. Despite that, he waits for her to speak, "I'm okay. Did Brooke not have any questions after the visit?"

"She did." He sighs, "Quinn handled most of it. She's been great, while I've been awful."

There's a small pause on the other end, then she relays softly, "Stop being so hard on yourself. You're a wonderful person, Sam, and you have to remember that. Not everyone would do what you are doing."

"I find it hard to think of anyone who wouldn't do this."

She makes a strangled sort of noise, followed by a guilty whisper; "I don't know if I would." That catches him off guard, because he always thought her to be the type of person to reach out and help whoever she can. Maybe she isn't anymore, or maybe she never was. Either way, he can't find it in him to care, because she's not in that situation and he doesn't begrudge her for it. When he doesn't reply, she continues, "That's why I think you're better than you realise. Please, for me, stop being so hard on yourself? You don't deserve it."

The kindness of her words and the gentleness of her voice makes him smile, which he seems to do less of these days, "Okay. For you."

"Thank you. Will I still come over tonight?" The question is posed hesitantly, as if she is afraid of the reply. He knows she's nervous about meeting not only Brooke, but also Quinn. He's failed to recognise so far how understanding Dina's being, because Quinn was his first love. Quinn was his everything for such a long time, and now she's right back to being important. Dina hasn't put up much of a fight to it, and that's important to Sam; trust.

"Of course. They can't wait to meet you," He adds, sensing that she needs some reassurance. In reality, Brooke is only mildly interested – she tells him that he belongs to her, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. Not to mention that it's mostly true – and Quinn portrays the same nonchalance and minor intrigue she always does. He has no doubts that she'll be polite and friendly though, letting Brooke be her normal warm self, too.

"I hope so. I miss you so much, Sam," Passionate words touch him, but only so far as guilt. He should be meeting her alone for their first physical contact since he left, but part of him his avoiding it. Everything in Sam is shifting and changing during this transition in his life – it scares him. He wants to love Dina unconditionally, and thinks he still does love her, but the fear of this ebbing love is overriding his desire to see her alone.

"I know, so do I." The lie slips easily from his mouth, surprising even him. Sam was never the greatest liar.

She sighs, "Okay. Well, I'll see you in an hour or so, then." The ending lingers, awaiting the correct response before properly ending the call. He's eager to finish the conversation because he promised Quinn he'd help her with dinner, and Brooke has been quiet for far too long. He's sitting on Quinn's black leather couches in the sitting room, staring blankly at a silent TV as the call with Dina goes on.

"See you soon." Neither of them say anything else, but neither hang up. He can very faintly hear her breathing on the other line, and then it's gone.

It's the first phone call since their engagement that hasn't ended in 'I love you'.

By the end of their work, the kitchen smells deliciously of a traditional healthy dinner. He cooked the meat, and Quinn took care of the vegetables. The smell of the ham makes his mouth water as he anticipates the taste. Quinn, being a vegetarian now, has cooked her own burger. The table is set nicely; nothing too fancy, but they're using wine glasses. Brooke is already in her chair, singing along to the playlist they had put on while cooking. She knows few songs, but the ones she does know are usually belted out with great gusto – even if they are quite frequently the wrong words. He's glad for that, because hearing his four-year old goddaughter rap the words to "Superbass" is mildly disturbing.

There's a knock on the door and he assumes the role of answering it, being who it is on the other side. The absence of the door reveals a lovely Dina, looking appropriately stunning in a simple blue, knee-length dress and a thin brown belt clinching her tiny waist. Her luscious blonde hair is in curls, enveloping her elbows. The ensemble briefly reminds him of something Quinn once wore.

He pulls her in for a hug, kissing her forehead swiftly. When he begins to let go, she holds him tighter, revealing her reservations and nerves about the night. Hearing Quinn approach, he quickly whispers in her ear, "Don't worry, this will be great."

They part just in time as Quinn arrives beside them. Giving the other woman a bright, but insincere, smile, she extends her hand, "I'm Quinn. It's great to finally meet you, Dina!"

Taking the other blonde's hand, she smiles, pleasantly surprised. "You, too. I confess Sammy hasn't told me much about you, so I can't wait to get to know you."

"Likewise," Quinn replies, her mouth poised to add something when she's interrupted by a highly enthusiastic rendition:

"You got that boom, badoom boom, boom badoom boom, he got that super bass."

Dina promptly laughs, "Is that Brooke? I love that song. She's not half bad!"

Sam nods, "Well, her mother was something else. But I do think you're being a little generous." He winces at a particularly heartfelt attempt from Brooke. Quinn leads the way to the girl, who is standing beside the table now and dancing. Sam doesn't like how she's dancing, or how she's rapping the words to the song, and so tells her to stop and come say hello.

"Hi, Dean! I like your blue dress. Blue isn't my favourite colour but I do like it even if Janet Bigly said that it's a boy colour when I weared it to school once. Do you know my school? I haven't gone in ages but I'm going to go again and tell Janet about my new bike that my Grandpa's bought me because she don't even _have _a bike. Isn't that just the silliest thing ever!"

Dina's smile remains frozen, and she glances at Sam, who only laughs. "Brookie, what did we say about speaking slower when we meet new people?"

"I did!" She protests, a frown overcoming her face.

Quinn takes over, ordering everyone to sit down. She presents the dinner and Sam will do dessert – that was the outcome of their coin toss. Interestingly, neither of them wanted to bring out dessert because it's so hard to move after dinner. However, Quinn won.

Brooke immediately digs into her dinner, not rehashing this morning's episode. Sam thanks his lucky stars for that, even if they've proved rather _un_lucky lately. The clink of the knives and forks, with the occasional scratch against the plate, reverberates around the table. Sam looks between the three girls, hoping to find a common link.

"Brooke, don't you love Fruit Loops? Dina comes up with the advertisement for it." He begins lamely, earning a look of confusion from the child.

"Captain Crunch is better than Fruit Loops! You should do your adbermisement somewhere else, Dean." Brooke advises her seriously, nodding to drive the sentiment home.

Dina isn't sure of how to respond, and so simply says, "Thanks, Brooke. I'll keep that in mind."

"So, Dina, are you from New York?" Quinn asks, answering Sam's silent plea to make an effort. He needs this to go well for more reasons than one.

"No, I'm actually from California. I wanted to get away from all of that though – not to mention my parents! So I moved here. I love it here; it's exactly what I've always wanted. Then I met Sam, and it was like something out of a fairytale," She sends him an adoring look across the table. He receives it uncomfortably, and manages a strained smile.

"My teacher says fairytales aren't real but my Mommy always said her and Daddy were a fairytale and I think that's right because they always found each other in the end." Sam can tell that his fiancé doesn't know what to say to that either, which is understandable, and takes it upon himself to respond.

"That's true." He wants to say more.

"They were like something straight out of a book, B. If I find something like your Mom and Dad, I'll be a very happy woman." Quinn tells her gently, smiling all the while. Brooke is satisfied with this reply and returns to eating her carrots – which they were told several times while cooking, that carrots were her favourite 'vengatable'.

"Have you thought at all about a date for the wedding?" Quinn asks, but her eyes are planted firmly on her plate. He wants to glare at her for bringing up the wedding, but she won't meet his gaze. His expression softens when he notices the resignation and sadness in her eyes. She hasn't got anyone yet, but he knows she will. Quinn Fabray deserves the world and more.

"We haven't discussed it yet.. But Sammy, I really want a summer wedding. It would be perfect, don't you think?"

Put on the spot, he splutters a little. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Sam tries to reply. Fortunately for him, Brooke beats him to it, "You're going to be married?"

Dina nods, beaming. "Yes, and you'll have a big part in it, Brooke."

She pauses, obviously thinking about this 'big part', but then disregards it, "But Sammy is mine!"

Sam chuckles nervously as he's scared to death that an outburst is coming. "I sure am. But you can share me, right?"

She pouts petulantly, glaring up at him through her messy hair, "I share with Quinn."

"Um, I think you're confused, Brooke. Quinn is just Sammy's friend – I'm going to be his wife."

The little girl looks ready to kick off, and sensing this, Quinn swoops into to salvage the dinner with an announcement of ice-cream. Brooke's thoughts move to that as Quinn asks her to help out, leaving the couple alone for a second.

He's uncomfortable in a way that he never has been before around her. Finishing her food, Dina puts her knife and fork together before asking him tightly, "Does she think you and Quinn are together? Why would she think that?"

"She doesn't think that, Di. Honestly, she's confused right now and I don't think we should be discussing any of this with her just yet. She's just gone through a huge transition in her life, and I don't want to add to it right now with all of this talk that is really between adults." His tone leaves no room for argument, but it wouldn't be unlike Dina to argue anyway. He has always been attracted to women with a fire in them.

To his surprise, she backs down, and only appears weary. "I know, I'm sorry. I forget myself sometimes and forget to rationalise things… This is hard for me, too, though."

"I know. Thank you for being so understanding." He places his hand over hers, meeting her blue eyes directly and trying to convey his appreciation. He thinks she understands because Dina nods, smiles and seems to put the argument behind her.

Quinn and Brooke return with the dessert. The rest of the dinner is spent discussing their favourite desserts, Brooke's return to school and how to bring Janet Bigly down.

He can't say that the dinner went badly, but a loud voice in the back of his head says something isn't right.

(It aggravates him that he can't pinpoint which girl is out of place.)

* * *

><p>Work was tiring for him that day, with many inquests over legal entitlement and plenty of battles over ownership. He represented a select few of the up-and-coming new, young and fresh players entering the football scene. It was difficult starting off in this business, but he had the drive, knowledge and talent to do it. He also had the support behind him, and thinking about it, he smiled involuntarily and quickened his pace up the stairs to his girlfriend's apartment. It had become a second home to him of late, he spent that much time there.<p>

They had been together now for two years officially, but he had loved her for much longer than that. They had 'relations' for much longer than that, too, actually. Most of college was spent thinking of her, and most of the summer was spent with her. He loved truly being with her now, even if they were simply watching TV on a Tuesday night with some awful microwaved dinner.

His life was going well at the moment. His best friends had a beautiful daughter who was also Sam's goddaughter, and spoiled rotten by him. He loved her like his own. As well as this, Finn was thinking seriously about proposing to Rachel and how best to do it – Sam loved a good wedding. He and Quinn were in steady enough jobs and he was working up the nerve to ask her to move in.

Using his own key, Sam let himself into the apartment. The entire place was silent, and suspicion immediately crept up on him. He looked around, calling out, "Quinn? I'm home! Where are you?"

A hoarse and throaty, "In here," answered his cry. Hearing the distress in her tone, worry immediately clawed at his insides, increasing his speed in locating her voice. He found her sitting on her double bed, the taupe sheets wrapped lightly around her. They snugly encased her legs though, which were bent at the knee. She was staring at something on the locker by the bed, but he only looked at her.

"Q? What's wrong? You're scaring me," He rushed to her bedside, taking her hands in his and kissing them lightly. She met his eyes, and the dazed look in them caused pause for thought. She wasn't crying, but Quinn didn't look happy, either. He squeezed her hands. "Quinn."

The prompt worked, because soon after, she glanced down at their hands and said desperately, "Oh, Sam," He pulled her to him, holding her close. Quinn still wasn't shedding tears, but he didn't know what was wrong with her and that still scared him. She appeared lost.

Into his shirt, she mumbled a dejected, "Look on the locker."

There, sitting almost innocently on the surface table was something that left him speechless. A pregnancy test – and it was positive.

Looking back at Quinn and raising his eyebrows, he knew he wasn't seeing things. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face after the initial shock, and it wasn't long until his infectious joy caught on with his girlfriend, too.

They were having a baby.

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, so major apologies for the delay in updating and thank you so much for the reviews! I'm flattered by the response the last chapter received :) I have a full-time job now, however, as an intern so I won't be available for writing as much because.. well, I'm still a student and go out a lot during the weeknights, so Sunday is the only real day I get for this. However, I'm making this story a priority above all my others so hopefully updates will be weekly.  
>Disclaimer: Don't own Glee or "Last Kiss" by Taylor Swift.<p>

Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)  
>CN.<p> 


	13. XIII: Someday, I will be strong enough

Chapter Thirteen: Someday, I will be strong enough to lift not one, but both of us.

"But—but I really like it!" Brown eyes peer up into his, and Sam looks to Quinn helplessly. Besides the fact that they've been shopping far longer than he would have liked, he simply can't say no to Brooke nor can he agree to buy a hamster. He knew they should have picked up the pace while crossing the petshop.

They're supposed to be shopping for school supplies, as Brooke is starting school again next week. However, being that he's with Quinn, who loves to shop, and Brooke, who insists on inspecting the items behind every window they pass, it's taken longer than he had imagined. He tries not to seem bothered though because Brooke (and Quinn) pull on his heartstrings with just a hint of a smile.

He's still struggling with that smile. Flinching is his instinct every time Brooke flaunts those ivory teeth, but it is getting easier to overrule. He doesn't want to be like this, and he refuses to be that person forever.

Absently, he listens to Quinn reason with Brooke. All they have left to buy is a few copies, which at Brooke's age won't even all be used, but Quinn wants her to be prepared. He's (only once) never seen her like this before; motherly, nurturing, radiating warmth. She's so genuinely happy around Brooke, so at peace with herself and everyone around her that Sam's treacherous thoughts ponder on how this will be good for Quinn.

_Good. _How could he ever describe what's happening as good? He wants to physically throw himself into a wall at these wonderings. Yet, more and more, he's seeing a better and healthier Quinn. Of course, she's still the Fabray he always knew; feisty, stubborn, infuriating, clever and often distant – but she's better.

The same can't quite be said for him. It's like she's becoming the best of him, while he's taking the worst of her. Sam wishes he could change that – and he will.

They move onto the stationary shop to pick up some final pieces, and Sam remembers with fondness how excited his friends were last year when Brooke started school. Of course, she was only three and it was only Kindergarten, but there was a whole lot of fuss in any case. He couldn't blame them though; she is adorable.

Salty water springs to his eyes with no warning, causing him to turn away subtly and blink rapidly to rid of them. The two girls move between the aisles, Brooke asking for everything in sight, but Sam decides to wait outside. He shouldn't be here right now.

In a perfect world, in a world where life is just and fair, _Rachel and Finn _would be here.

For a second, he allows himself to fall into the trap of thinking everything is okay. Pretending for a moment lifts the guilty haze from his eyes. Rachel and Finn are currently arguing over whether Brooke really needs a fluffy, pink folder at her age while the girl in question skips around the shop to the tune of "Niggas in Paris" – her new favourite song, which is even _worse _than the last – with Quinn being dragged behind her. He's taking a breather outside from the madness.

Right? No. Quinn and Brooke exit the shop then, indeed singing "Niggas in Paris" with a pink folder in hand – but there's no Finn and Rachel. Life isn't fair and just, and this isn't a perfect world.

"Sammy? Are you okay? Do you want me to hold your hand? Whenever I feel bad I just hold you or Quinn's hands and it feels much better so do you want me to hold your hand?" Smiling gently at her, Sam accepts her hand gladly. As cheesy as it sounds, it's times like this that causes him to think; the world may not be perfect, but Brooke Hudson sure is.

His initial reaction is to return her smile this time.

* * *

><p>They go for dinner after that, giving the choice of where to Brooke. It wouldn't be difficult to guess what she picks, as the yellow M sign beckons her with promises of happy meals and loud, screaming children. Sam doesn't really mind though, he's always loved children – the innocence, happiness, playfulness are all things he can get on board with. He loves imaginary games, animation movies and action figures but Quinn doesn't adopt the same attitude.<p>

He sees her slight grimace as the baby at the table next to us smears her ketchup all over the table and has to hide his smile. Some things never change, thank God. She catches his eye, as well as his grin, and gives a sheepish smile herself. She shrugs then and returns to opening up Brooke's food. Eating is one of the few times their little Hudson is quiet – and even then, there's some talking going on.

Inspecting her chicken sandwich subtly, Quinn asks him, "Is Dina visiting later?" She always says 'visiting', like she'll never be anything more than a visitor. He doesn't know whether that's him being paranoid and picky, or whether Quinn genuinely feels a little territorial about the whole situation.

Regardless, he replies easily, "Nope. She's working late because it's month end. Accountants don't get off easily this time of the month… This is Dina's 'that time of the month', let me tell you. She's grouchy as hell when doing month end at work."

Her smile is small, but genuine, "I can imagine it's quite hectic. You know she's welcome at any time, don't you? You live there now as well."

Sam knows she thinks it's her fault Dina doesn't visit much, but that's not true at all. It's him. Sam is the first to admit he finds the situation odd and slightly uncomfortable; dinner with his fiancé and ex-girlfriend. He doesn't even think Quinn should be classed as an 'ex-girlfriend' because it seems such a measly word to describe what she was to him.

"I know, thanks. I just need time to settle in. I appreciate the kindness though… you know you're great sometimes, don't you, Q?"

She blushes prettily and glances away, but questions sassily, "Sometimes, eh?"

"All the time!" Brooke pipes up from behind her burger, which is nearly demolished. There's ketchup colouring the skin around her lips, and her hands are stained with red, too. The host of onions and gherkins lie on the table carelessly, which causes Quinn to frown, but she says nothing. The young girls eyes focus in on something then, and she drops the burger onto a tissue Quinn had luckily placed in front of her. Hastily, she plunges to the ground and plucks a piece of paper up off of it. Examining it closely, Brooke then thrusts it under Sam's nose.

He gulps. Brooke must vaguely recognise the words and colours, because she's looking at him earnestly and he knows exactly why. It's an advertisement for West Side Story on Broadway, which Rachel has starred in. He wonders how the world returns to things so quickly. He supposes it's been nearly four months.

"Can we go?! I know that my mommy was in that play because I seened it once and it was really good and afterwards Daddy took me to McDonalds while we waiting for Mom to finish and she branged back loads of flowers!"

Quinn is awfully quiet, so he checks to see what her stance is on this. He's speechless. It seems as if Quinn is the same though, as her head is hung slightly, her glistening blonde hair hiding her eyes from his vision. He doesn't want Brooke to see her upset, and nor does she, so he turns his back to her in the booth. Brooke is still standing at his side, examining the leaflet in his hands. He wonders if she thinks her Mom will be there, and approaches the topic with hesitance.

"If you want, B… but you know, they have a new actor now? And we could just watch Star Wars again!" Sam adds, becoming genuinely enthusiastic about that prospect. Part of him wants to see this musical though; he feels he's ready and that he needs it. He needs to take part in something that reminds him of them, but not in a regretful way.

Brooke looks down at her shoes, "Yeah I know my Mom can't be in it 'cause she's in the clouds now. Like you and Quinnie said."

He gulps, all moistness abandoning his lips and throat, "Yeah. Yeah, that's right, Brooke."

"But you know she's still here, looking over you and helping you," Quinn says, coming to life again. There are no signs around her eyes that she's been crying, and Sam is able to find those signs with ease, so he assumes she only needed a minute to compose herself. "Maybe we should ask Kurt along, too."

Sam perks at this, having not seen the man in a long time. He didn't stay close with Kurt, but they were friends by association at the very least, and they'd had some good times together. He knows that Kurt is having a difficult time, not unlike them, after the passing of their friends; he can't help but feel a little guilty that he didn't reach out.

Brooke's eyes light up upon hearing her uncle's name – he spoils her senseless, as he promised from day one, "Yay! Kurt is coming!"

He reads the leaflet quickly, "The show isn't for another while, okay? But we'll mark it on the calendar," He and Quinn bought Brooke a calendar to keep track of everything that is going on around her, with their being so much. They want her to know where they are at all times – and avoid worry and panic when one of them is missing. Lately, she's been very clingy and acutely aware of where the two of them are at all times.

Brooke visits her own world then, rambling at length about the play and other topics that vaguely relate. Sam takes a look at the woman sitting beside him, gazing thoughtfully at the four-year old accompanying them. He sees the life in her eyes again when Brooke is around, but he knows it's short-lived.

Brooke brings out the best in Quinn, but part of it worries him. She's only living for her; and without that, without her, Quinn is an empty shell.

As for Sam? He's so full of emotion and conflict that he can't see straight.

* * *

><p>He thought he had faced all the pain life had to give him, but he should have known better. He's been sitting here for a half hour now, cooing softly and generally feeling lost. Her sobs pierce his consciousness like Quinn's eyes once did, but now it's a harrowing and excruciating cut into him which leaves him gasping for air.<p>

There are few people that he has ever felt this magnitude of love for; so much love, that the hurt of that person rebounds twofold onto you. It makes him more than a little vulnerable, but he's not afraid of those kinks. (not like Quinn.) However, he tries to conceal the anguish on his face as he rubs circles into her back.

At times, she shakes so violently with the harsh cries that he worries she's having a fit. Quinn holds her head gently to her chest, listening intently to the muffled words while Sam has her legs in his lap, but focuses on trying to provide comfort through soothing movements on her back.

It's not the first time Brooke has broken down in tears before bedtime – he doubts it will be the last. The beginning isn't difficult; one might even call it easy, where a few stern words has Brooke finally moving to get ready for bed. She brushes her teeth at a painstaking pace and demands in an angelic tone a story from them. They both put her to bed every, single night to make her feel secure.

The story finishes, and so does the façade.

Perhaps it's not a façade, Quinn reasons some nights. Brooke genuinely doesn't think about it till bedtime, when it should be Finn and Rachel tucking her in, when Rachel should be singing a gentle lullaby and Finn creating some ludicrous story. Either way, at least once a week, they're greeted to a girl who is so upset she makes herself sick. Calpol has become a necessity in the house.

This time, with striking clarity, he hears her whisper brokenly, "I—I just want to see their face. I want my Mommy and Daddy and I can't remember!" Pulling back, Brooke peers up at her new guardian through misty eyes and a wet face, "Sometimes I miss their face."

He wonders how a four-year old can articulate, with such brilliant intelligibility, exactly what he's feeling. Sam is struggling, as he always does with her, to find the correct words – where he is usually so infallible, he never succeeds anymore. He used to be the one Brooke would run to for support. Before everything.

Quinn raises her hand to the girls face, "I know, Brooke," words are soft, touching him as well as the girl, "I know how hard it is. Sometimes, I just want to look at pictures of them all day and not leave bed. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'll forget what they look like."

She lifts Brooke's chin up, "But then I remember that I have you. I have you and Sam, and we're all in this together. Neither of us will _ever _let you forget, and you are so like that I could never forget their faces… They're probably wishing you could see this right now, chick. I love you, Sam loves you and they love you, okay? So let's try and remember the happy Brooke, and going to sleep thinking about our baking tomorrow or school next week or the fact that you've got us wrapped around your finger!" She jokes, tickling Brooke lightly.

It has the right effect, because she allows a small, uncontrollable giggle that changes the mood entirely. "Now, tell me you didn't forget the bedtime song!"

Sam observes in astound the ease with which Quinn controls the situation, and wonders if he's ever admired her more. (There's still a numbness to her movements that nags him.)

In hindsight, there's so many reasons to admire Quinn; Beth, her crash, her mother passing, their own loss…. Sam immediately drops his train of thought. They had agreed to leave that behind; whatever they've lost over the years, is gone for good.

He hopes that by the end of the day, they both still remember this.

* * *

><p>There isn't much of a routine between them after they put Brooke to bed each night. Some nights, they both feel so drained that bed is the number on destination. Other nights, they sit on the couch for an hour or so, trying to keep up with the events playing out in any given show. The rarest nights are the ones where they sit at the kitchen table, chatting quietly about the asinine and trivial things in their lives.<p>

Some nights, they even talk about their situation.

It leaves him with two feelings that aren't quite compatible; guilt and relief. The relief is easy to embrace, as the burden on his shoulders trickles away with each word spoken between them. She understands and it's like the oasis in a desert. He keeps reminding himself that it's dangerous to see Quinn like that.

Especially since he keeps _seeing _Quinn. Every waking moment, save work and the occasional meeting with Dina, she's there. He's come to curse how beautiful she is, at any given time of the day. Whether she's just been through an hour of comforting Brooke, or slaving over a stove when it's her night to cook, or even after a long day at work, the binding and unambiguous fact is that Quinn Fabray is absolutely beautiful. It's just not right. (or fair.)

This brings the guilt back around. Disregarding his private sentiments on how Quinn looks, his conscience comes to life and nags him every time he opens up to Quinn in a way he never has done to Dina.

Sam's a good person, and he knows this. He's a good person – he doesn't want to hurt Dina. Sam is perfectly aware of how unfair he's being to his girlfriend, how foolish and damning this circle is. Why can't he right it then?

Quinn comes out of the bathroom then and breezes past him towards the kitchen, appearing troubled. His hand darts out to gently take hold of her wrist, pulling her to a stop and a bit closer to him. Hazel orbs connect with his, and she releases a long sigh.

His brow creases, "Are you okay?"

Her eyes move away, roving around the room for god knows what (nothing.). She shrugs helplessly, not really giving him an answer. His eyes are trained on her, unspoken words flying between them. "I guess." She says uncertainly.

Her hand still in his, Sam brings them both to the sitting room. Lately, worry has been circling around in his head for Quinn. While he's _overwhelmingly _grateful for Quinn's unwavering attitude with Brooke – optimism, loving, mothering and knowledgeable – he can't help but notice how the light in her eyes goes out around the same time as the ones in Brooke's bedroom.

He hasn't seen genuine grief for anyone but Brooke in Quinn in a long time.

They sit facing each other on the couch, his elbow propped up against the back. One leg folded underneath her as her body turns to him, Quinn's eyes seem to find the chipped polish on her nails riveting. He remembers her old ways of keeping her nails religiously immaculately perfect, and a strange wistfulness accompanies the memory.

Their hands fall apart, she drawing hers into her lap. Sam uses one to lean his face against, while the other lies limply on his leg.

"Quinn, come on, you can talk to me," He probes, a desperation in him to help her that is unhealthy.

She shakes her head, her eyes sad and resigned, "There's nothing wrong. I'm just upset for Brooke, she shouldn't have to be like that…"

"Of course she shouldn't… it's the worst thing imaginable. But you're doing such an amazing job, Q." Sam wants his words to hit home, to open her eyes but they always fail to _really _reach her ears.

"I don't… I guess I'm trying my best, but feeling that it'll never be enough," He hears her voice start to quiver, and he knows that finally Quinn is allowing him in a little, "And then, perhaps what scares me more, is what if it is enough? What if Brooke forgets them?" She whispers the next bit hoarsely, searching his eyes distraughtly for an answer, "What if we're replacing them?"

The gulp he makes his loud against the quiet room, making Quinn more fearful of his response. He mulls over her words slowly, wanting to articulate his response perfectly. He knows it's an awful thing to say, but she has always looked pretty at her most vulnerable. It's an aspect so rarely seen that some would doubt it exist, but by god Sam knows different. Her teeth catch her lip in a gnawing clutch, her eyes blink fast in their wide sockets and her shoulders sink in an almost imperceptible measure. She looks to _him _for answers in these instances and it's a welcome change from the indestructible and all-encompassing Quinn.

In the end, he can't be anything but utterly honest with this Quinn. "In some ways, we will replace them…" his own words and thoughts begin to process with him, causing his eyes to drop in order to find strength from some part of the gleaming leather of the couch. He feels her soft, cold hand reach out to his, gripping it tightly. It gives him strength in a way he wouldn't have previously imagined. "She'll always remember them, though. It's obvious that neither of us will let her forget them – and no, we won't forget them either. How could we ever forget the beauty in Rachel's voice? Or the kindness in Finn's words?" A small voice in Sam's head is berating him for being so damn sappy, but he mostly doesn't care. The dominant feeling in him is to _help Quinn._ Words are all he has. "The fact is though, no matter how hard we try, we will eventually become those parental figures to her. Who knows what she'll call us, when she'll realise it or even if it'll be a gradual thing – as long as she's happy, do you think either Finn or Rachel would care?"

Sam hastily sniffs to rid himself of the tears, finally coming to look back at Quinn. She's looking at him in an odd way, as if having never heard such words or thought of these sentiments. At an agonizingly slow pace, she leans forward and puts her arms around him.

He clutches onto her tightly, as though if he let go, they would both be lost forever. In some ways, it's true.

When they wake in the morning, lying together on the couch with her in his arms, a new worry begins in his chest; why would he rather be here than anywhere else?

* * *

><p>"You just don't understand, it has to be perfect," This was Finn's explanation for visiting six – maybe seven? He had lost count – jewellery shops. Sam wasn't sure why he was there, because lord knew he wouldn't be any help. Rachel was a good friend of his, but he had no idea as to her jewellery preferences. They only inkling he had was that a big diamond should do the trick, knowing Rachel and her love of the extravagant.<p>

Finn was dubious of his suggestion – not only because they were by no means rich, but also because he reckoned she would prefer something more low-key. Who was Sam to argue, he just wanted to go home to his pregnant girlfriend. Quinn was a little difficult at times, but it was so worth it because truth be told, he was the luckiest man he knew. Throwing a glance toward his friend, he reckoned he was even luckier than Finn.

Granted, Finn had little Brooke, too, but soon Sam would have his own baby to coo over. They were young – perhaps too young for such a step – but he knew that this child would be just as loved as Brooke by everyone. He secretly hoped for a girl that could play dress-up with Brooke when they got older, but never voiced this aloud.

Besides, a boy to teach all the tricks of the trades to sounded equally amazing.

"Come on, Sam," Finn whined, nudging the blond subtly, "I brought you because I thought you'd be better than Puck. At least Puck would chat the store clerks up to get a discount."

"Or get you thrown out." Sam replied dryly.

Finn silently conceded that one, and swiftly moved on, "I want it to be perfect, y'know? You have to understand, you love Quinn, right?"

Sam raised an eyebrow: where was this going? Flatly; "I think so." Sarcasm was always good to use when in doubt.

The taller man ignored that, "If you were going to propose to her, wouldn't you be going crazy trying to find something she wouldn't be disappointed in, or want to return?"

He thought for a moment. While he agreed wholly with Finn, he knew that both Quinn and Rachel would be picky about this sort of thing – while they would appreciate the gesture, there was a large chance they would return the ring anyway. "Yeah, but dude, they're picky as hell about this stuff."

He signed laboriously, "Just wait till you're finding Quinn's. I'm going to laugh in your face."

"Gee, thanks, man." It was strange that he didn't feel the slightest bit of trepidation in thinking of getting married to Quinn, except maybe regarding the chance she'd reject him. They were young, and Quinn was ambitious, after all.

A loud clapping alerted the men once more to the toddler in the buggy beside them. Finn bent down and smiled at Brooke, "Hey ladybug, did you see something you like?"

"Mine!" she said, grasping at air for the ring behind the case. Finn looked to the one she was gesturing to, giving it serious consideration. The band was a white gold, leading to the diamond shaped jewel glistening underneath the bright lights.

After a quiet moment – save for Brooke's cries for the ring – Finn turned to Sam, "Is it wrong to let our year-old daughter pick the ring?"

* * *

><p>AN: I feel like I'm dodging death glares here... I'm sorrry for keeping you all waiting! I really haven't been feeling up to writing lately. Like, I simply didn't want to. I'd sit down and try and then give up... But hopefully, I'm back now :) I'm going to try and tackle my other stories now. (Friends :D )

The flashback of the next chapter will answer a lot, but also make some of you quite unhappy...

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, you guys are seriously great! I don't own Glee or "Both of us" by B.O.B.

CN.


	14. XIV: So Show Me Family

Chapter Fourteen: So Show me Family, All the Blood That I will Bleed. I don't know where I went wrong, I don't know where I belong.

A hearty grin greets him at the breakfast table, which Sam of course is powerless to deny. He returns it with just as much gusto, attributing the good mood among everyone to the big day. There's a charge in the air; an electricity fueled by excitement. He's relieved that there's a happy environment, and not a drastically depressing one like there could have been.

Waking Brooke hadn't even been difficult. Mostly because she woke him up an hour early, exclaiming "Today is the day!" over and over. He swears he has a little bit of a headache still from it. No one likes being stolen away from sleep so abruptly, but for her, he had laughed and dragged her onto the bed, tickling her senselessly. Her laughs made the ridiculous hour of the morning worth it.

What made it even better, was formulating an elaborate plan to then wake Quinn up. However, Brooke got too excited, disregarded said plan, and just jumped on the woman enthusiastically. From there till now, it had been a flurry of clothes, singing loudly on the little ones part and preparing. Quinn volunteered to make breakfast, which Sam now waits for with Brooke.

Brooke is singing a cheerful "I'm going to school" to a tune only known to her, but Sam doesn't want to intrude or interrupt and instead is glad for her singing drowning out the sounds of his stomach grumbling. Becoming impatient, he shouts out to Quinn, "Hey Fabray, where's the food?"

The child across from him giggles, "Yeah, Fabray!" She laughs harder at this, finding the idea of calling Quinn by her second name a novelty and rather bold.

Sam tries to hide his wince, knowing Quinn wouldn't be fond of that. Instead of the wince, he does something even worse: chuckles. Quinn chooses that moment to enter, placing their plates in front of them gently. Or rather, placing Brooke's plate in front of her gently, and giving Sam a stern look.

"Call me Quinn, B, okay?"

She nods dutifully, already tucking into her food. "Okay!"

Now with her own plate, Quinn sits down between the two of them, signalling for Sam to chow down. Between mouthfuls, she manages to ask Brooke, "Are you excited for today, cookie?"

"Yep! I'm going to make loads of friends and have a new nice teacher and I won't have to see stupid Janet Bigly ever again!"

Sam exchanges a glance with Quinn, "Well, we don't know if Janet will be there. We hope she went to a different school, too, though. She was a bit of a meanie."

Brooke agrees with a deadly serious look on her face, "She was horrible but I sometimes felt bad for her because she hadn't no friends."

"It's a shame she had no friends, but you must be nice to others." Quinn replies simply, and Sam takes that as the end of the conversation. He takes on the task of clearing the table when everyone is finished, and allows his thoughts to drift as Brooke chatters in the background to Quinn. It's the first time he's allowed himself to realise that his little Brooke is actually going to _school._

Then he wonders if it's acceptable for him to think of her as "his little Brooke", because while he would have said that a year ago, it now holds an entirely new meaning. Perhaps he's reading in too much. Perhaps he's overstepping the boundaries. He doesn't know, and today, Sam miraculously finds it in him not to care. Today, he's determined to be optimistic, happy and to send Brooke off to school with lightness in her heart. Not the dread that he would face himself.

He works from home most days now, being a writer for a satirical website that comments on everything current and popular, but can't imagine that he'll be getting much done today. The clock is positioned torturously across from the kitchen table where he usually works, meaning he'll more than likely just count down the hours till he sees Brooke again. It's rather interesting how his life has come to revolve around that tiny person.

He's jolted from this reflection by Quinn's hand touching his shoulder, "Are you okay? We want to leave in ten."

"I'm fine," Sam assures her, "It's just surreal beyond belief."

She smiles, "I know. _Brooke _going to school! It makes me feel so old." Quinn's silent for a minute, watching him dry the dishes as she leans against the counter, "We have to do the day justice. They—they always talked about this day."

He nods, not willing to think about that. She takes him at his word – or rather, at his action – and leaves the kitchen to presumably get their godchild.

He hears the laughter from the sitting room and finds himself smile with them, because he would be damned if that wasn't the sweetest sound in the world.

Then again, he thinks wryly, he'd also be damned if anyone knew he had such thoughts.

* * *

><p>"I'm <em>fine<em>." She says exasperatedly, eyes whipping between them and her classroom rapidly. She can't stop moving, and is almost jumping from her spot in front of them. He's so relieved this is the reaction though – god knows his mother told him enough times about the nightmare he caused on the first day of school.

"I'm just making sure," Quinn says, straightening the coat hanging haphazardly on the four-year old. Her bag is pinning her coat on, but with the item being nearly bigger than Brooke herself, it's all very messy and disorganised. The kid doesn't mind at all, it bothers Quinn more than her. The blonde woman puts her hand on Brooke's cheek, stroking it to gain the girl's attention, "Have a good day, okay? If you need anything at all, just ask the teacher to ring me or Sam. We'll be here in a second and there won't be a problem."

Brooke sighs childishly, "I know."

Sam scoops her into a hug then, squeezing her tight, "Bear hug!" She laughs loudly, her legs kicking joyously under her and hitting Sam several times. He doesn't mind, it's not as if her kicks have any power to them. Quinn joins in after some encouraging words from Brooke, and they all stand there, hugging and laughing for a minute.

His treacherous, lecherous mind wonders for a minute if this is what it could have been like for him and Quinn.

* * *

><p>Everyone clapped loudly as she was dipped low, her hair almost falling to the floor. Although it had been immaculate that morning, her hair was now a little looser, a little more tousled but he reckoned she looked just as good like that. Her partner leaned in to kiss her as she sat in his arms, earning a few wolf-whistles from the crowd, himself included. They looked perfect together out on that floor.<p>

Realising it was coming up to his cue, Sam scanned the crowd around the dancefloor for his own partner. Rachel would kill him if he didn't kill _this. _He had been under strict instructions to lead the bridal party, him having the coveted title of Best Man. He heard more claps and turned to see Finn had swept Rachel back up to standing position, and his need to find Quinn became more urgent. Surely, the Maid of Honour was supposed to be three feet from the Bride at all times.

He finally found her standing closest to the couple and berated himself for not finding her sooner. She still looked ravishing, and he hated himself for thinking it. His mind never complied with his wishes when it came to her; earlier in the church was a prime example. He had to forcefully remind himself that he and Quinn were finished. She would never entertain a reunion after all that had happened. Too much had happened, too much hurt, devastation and cruelty.

Sam flashed her a wide grin as he gestured for her hand, bowing ever so slightly. Quinn accepted it with a smile of her own, twirling into his arms effortlessly. He hated that it was as if they never parted; their steps still sang the same song, still ever in sync and comfortable in that. In the corner of his eye, Puck and Kurt did the same with the other bridesmaids. As a shout-out to the times they met in, their song was a medley which sped up and slowed down and various stages. Sam and Quinn kept up from their Rachel-forced lessons, but the close proximity with her was something he wasn't accostomed to anymore. It made him sweat a little more, stumble once and his heart raced far beyond the required for dancing.

He was thankful when more couples began to join them on the dancefloor, and as the medley ended and the couple of the day kissed, neither he or Quinn were prepared for the next song. He knew it was placed at most events, that it was a renowned song, but for some reason assumed Rachel would prevent it from being played. Maybe it was narcissistic to think that.

He felt her stiffen slightly, her movements becoming slower as the song sped up. He pulled back to look at her, feeling the urge to shrug and laugh at the whole situation. Of course, the first time they've danced together and the first event they've been at since their split, and this was the welcome they received.

It convinced Sam the universe was trying to tell him something.

It seemed Quinn wasn't on the same page, or even in the same universe as him though, for she shook her head almost imperceptibly and dropped his hands. "That-that time is over."

It was a strange thing that his automatic reaction was to shout the words at her she made him listen to, "It wasn't over, and it still isn't over,"

That was the movies though. In reality, those words fell upon deaf ears.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey y'all... Sooo, I'll be super surprised if I HAVE any readers or reviewers left. It would really make my day if I did, though. I'm so sorry for such an embarrassing delay in updates, it won't happen again in this story. I really want to finish it and have a definite plan laid out. I had pretty bad writers block for a while, and still do, but now I'm determined to write through it. I know this chapter doesn't quite satisfy, but hopefully, the future ones will. I was too eager to update to write more. As for the last quote, it's from the Notebook of course. Not one of my favourite films tbh, my best friend made me watch it, but thought I'd throw it in in the moment.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, "The Notebook" or "Hey, ho!" by the Lumineers. Great, great song btw.

Thanks guys, I hope you enjoyed reading and please leave a review :)

CN.


	15. XV: Dig Them Up

Chapter Fifteen: Dig Them Up

**You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve,**  
><strong>And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground.<strong>  
><strong>Dig them up; let's finish what we've started.<strong>

There's a certain strangeness he feels as he unloads the cardboard boxes from his car and carries them into his new abode. In many ways, there's a lot wrong with this situation. After all, they're all in an impossible situation. Following lengthy discussions with Dina and Quinn (separately, of course) it had been decided that it's best for Brooke if Sam moves in, if only for a while. There isn't really a spare room, so he leaves his things in Quinn's room where she has cleared some of the wardrobe and a drawer, and sleeps on the couch in the night. They've discussed getting a futon but have yet to actually purchase one.

In any case, he can't shake the small feeling of unease. He's leaving his home with fiancée to live with his ex-girlfriend and their – their what? He can't say child, but responsibility seems so crass to call Brooke. Dina isn't pleased, but he can't find it in him to care too much, which says it all. Dismissing these thoughts, he smiles as Brooke bounds over to him at the door.

"Can I help you with this box, too, Sammy?" She asks eagerly, her face the epitome of innocence and everything that makes a child. He's starting to see his Brooke again, not the dark shadow she had been for some time. The implications of this may be startling, but even if it does mean she's getting past her parents – and it _hurts _– he can't help but feel relieved that she's not deeply unhappy.

Maybe that's selfish. Maybe it's unselfish. He isn't able to work it out.

"Of course you can, will you help me put the books into the spare shelf in the living room?"

Brooke wrinkles her little nose, "That doesn't sound very fun. Can't I put your toilet stuff in the bathroom?"

He laughs, "And spray it everywhere? I don't think so, Cookie. I would really like some help with these books though." After a moment more of frowning, Brooke nods dutifully and begins to unpack the box. "Hey, B, where's Quinn?"

"She's on the phone to Santa."

"She—she's what?" He asks, looking at the girl curiously. She's deeply engrossed in her all-important task of unpacking though.

"Santa! It's her birthday soon and she's having a big party and she said I could come. Quinn said she'd buy me a new dress for it – a pink one with ruffles and I'll look like a princess like that movie we watched the other night and everyone will say I'm pretty."

"Will they now?" He asks, crouching down to her level. "How can this be though? You're always our princess, remember?"

"Yeah, but I was always Mommy and Daddy's princess, too." She says, not looking at Sam but effectively knocking the wind out of his sails. It's then that Quinn enters the room with a smile, amused by the boxes littering her living room. He's surprised by how well she's taking the invasion. Part of him wonders how lonely she's been these past few years, but Quinn has always insisted on grieving alone.

There's a chance she has realised that's not the only way to grieve.

Sam, in all his naivety, has always believed he could 'fix' Quinn. This time, though, he's pretty sure it's the other way around. What should have been a time for him leaning on Dina, Quinn completely took her place. He doesn't know if his fiancée knows, but can't help but think she's in denial if she hasn't noticed.

Quinn reaches around him for a book sitting on the top of the box, "I didn't know you read so much, Evans."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an avid literature fan!" He replies good-naturedly, but in jest. He hasn't read half the books in his house, but isn't that always the way?

"My teacher says that reading is very important and opens loads of doors in life and I can't wait to read because then at night time I can tell you a story!" Brooke cuts in happily, having taken to looking at pictures in a geography book Sam has for reasons beyond his knowledge.

"That will be lovely, Brooke." Quinn responds, flicking through a book herself. She's sitting on the arm of the couch as she does this, her hair falling over her left shoulder while her hazel eyes scan rapidly over the famed words. Sam has the unsettling urge to run his hand through those golden locks – and yet, it's not unsettling, but so familiar it hurts.

Quinn clears her throat and he realises she's now looking at him, "Are you okay?" He nods, unwilling to answer verbally.

Answering the desire to distract himself, Sam asks her quickly, "Did you clear that drawer for me? I've a few bits and bobs here to throw in."

"Yeah, of course. It's nothing big! There's a chest of drawers in the corner of my room, yours is the second from the bottom," Quinn says this positively, but there's nervousness in her eyes she can't deny. This is dangerous for them. Especially because the way her lips move as she talks, the action of biting her lip in uncertainty at the end, drives him to thoughts he shouldn't have.

He dashes from the room in the most inconspicuous manner possible, reaching the drawer in record time. He stares at the dark wood, frowning deeply. Had she said the second from the bottom or the top? Sam looks at the four drawers for a while longer, almost hoping one of them will just fall open for him. He's nearly sure she said second from the top. After debating this for several more moments, he opens the second drawer and realises almost immediately that this is _not _the right one.

He hastily tries to close it, but the clumsiness of the action only causes the drawer to get stuck. Sam sighs laboriously; why did everything have to be so _difficult? _He can't just find a woman attractive, can't just live his life, can't just go on as nor—

Sam's thoughts come to an abrupt half as something in the godforsaken drawer catches his eye. As cliché as it sounds, his heart breaks a little at the sight of it. He drops his belongs carelessly on the ground, and picks up the picture in the drawer. It's a sonogram. It's _the _sonogram – not of Beth, but of their baby. He would recognise it anywhere.

There's pictures of Beth, too. He can't help but think how littered with hurt Quinn's life has been. Every year of her life seems to be defined by some tragedy, something to try and knock her down and break her spirit. His chest aches at the thought of her taking out this picture, crying over it alone.

_Alone. _In the end, that was a fact. He hadn't been there.

He holds the picture delicately, emotion bubbling within him as he reaches with his other hand for another picture. Smiling Quinn, glowing vibrantly with pregnancy and caressing her visible bump visibly. He remembers taking that picture so well – they had spent the day at the park with friends, then walked home hand-in-hand, joking about names like "Armani" as they mocked their friends. He promised her he'd love her forever, and she'd promised she'd never let him go.

It isn't hard to predict the outcome of those promises. That's what they're left with everywhere they turn; broken promises. Is that what Dina will be? Or maybe Dina is a broken promise?

"What are you doing?" The steel in her tone is missing, instead replaced with something filled with hope. She's hoping he hasn't seen her pictures, but he can't pretend – this isn't something he can overlook.

Despite that, he can't find the words to reply aptly, "I—I—" He turns around fully, giving her a full view of the photo's in his hands.

"They're private," she says shakily, taking them from his hands roughly and putting them back in the drawer. Like him, she tries to push it closed harshly, only making it more difficult for herself. She wrestles for a minute before it finally happens; Quinn breaks down. Within minutes, she's throwing a vase on top of the chest, and then beating his own chest viciously. "That wasn't your place to go snooping! I didn't let you stay here so you could _invade _my space and make me feel uneasy!"

"Quinn," he tries, "Quinn, please lower your voice."

"How _could _you? I trusted you to be here and not cross any lines! I _trusted you_,"

"Quinn." Sam's voice is forceful this time, "Stop it. Do you want Brooke to see you like this?"

She stills, completely frozen with her fists resting on his chest. Quinn breathes deeply, seemingly collecting herself. After doing this several times, all the while Sam rubbing her back slowly, she whispers harshly, "Don't touch my things again."

Startled, he replies dumbly, "I won't."

She wipes under her eyes swiftly, checking herself in the mirror and fixing her hair. Sam watches from behind, knowing she can see him in the reflection. This is a pivotal moment – he _has _to say something and it _has _to be the right thing.

"I'm sorry I broke your trust." Quinn meets his eyes in the mirror, void of feeling. She appears momentarily taken aback, but then straightens herself.

"That's alright."

She walks out of the room then.

He thinks he should have told her the inevitable truth; the past is going to catch up with them.

* * *

><p>Today, Sam has a hectic schedule. Including, but not limited to, a deadline in work, a child to be collected at two, a dinner to be cooked and a birthday to attend. Come to think of it, he probably has to get a present for the damn party, too. He should ask Quinn about that, but it's the last thing on his mind right now, and instead he's going to just assume she got it and blame miscommunication if she hasn't.<p>

Collecting Brooke from school is usually a joy, as every time, she reacts the same way. She races out past her teacher, searching immediately for either Sam or Quinn and then her face lights up with a radiant smile. She hugs him ferociously upon finding him, squeezing the life out of him. Sam is always amazed by the love a child has to give, and how freely Brooke gives it. Today, she does the same thing when Sam collects her. As he puts her down from their bear hug, Brooke instantly launches into a story about her day and her classmates.

Janet Bigley isn't in her class, but of course, there are Janet Bigley's in every class by a different name.

He listens intently to her stories, finding amusement in the words and jokes. This time, something is different, and he senses it from the moment Brooke peers up at him through those big, brown eyes. Her brow is crinkled, indicating something bothering her, and he picks up on it easily.

"Brooke?"

"Today, in class –"

"Mr. Evans, may I have a word with you?" A voice interrupts, and though his initial reaction is annoyance, Sam quickly puts this away and nods to the teacher. Brooke follows him closely, snuggling herself into his leg in a way that is so unlike her.

He gestures to her, unseen by Brooke, and silently asks the teacher what happened. She nods, "Poor thing. I thought I'd let you know of a disturbance we had in class today. Brooke got into a fight with a boy in her class – both are fine, I can assure you."

"Brooke? In a fist fight?"

She smiles a little, "Well, you could hardly call it a fist fight. Merely a few slaps, but a concerning development nonetheless." Ms. Morrissey pauses, and he knows the next words are the real crux of the problem. To support this theory, she also lowers her voice as she speaks, "The boy's name was Ryder, and he didn't believe that Brooke's parents had passed." She spares the girl a glance here, but Brooke's not paying attention.

An irrational and swift ire rises in Sam, "Excuse me?"

"You must understand, he's just a boy and to children his age, it's an unfathomable thought. In any case, Brooke got into an argument with him. One that inevitably led to violence, started by your dau—by Brooke."

He notices her slip-up, but it barely registers with him in light of everything else. It physically hurts him that someone would call Brooke a liar; to make a mockery of one of the saddest tragedies that can befall a child. Indignation, fury and protectiveness swirl around in him, causing a general unease.

"Well, I hope you corrected him." Is Sam's prompt reply.

The teacher, with whom Quinn and Sam have had deep conversations regarding their situation to ensure maximum sensitivity around Brooke, only nods. She's a very young woman, he'd wager younger than he and Quinn, with short blonde hair to her shoulders. She has a warmth in her eyes that he feels all teachers should have; a compassion that the job should require in all teachers.

"I know this is a difficult topic. I just wanted to let you know because Brooke has been feeling a little down ever since, and wanted to see you and Quinn. It happened not an hour before the end of class during recess, so I didn't call either of you." She lets this sink in for a moment, "If I can do anything, please let me know… I recommend you and Quinn talk to Brooke about the incident, but of course, that's up to you."

He can't find any more words, "Alright, thank you."

She bends down in front of Brooke, a kind smile greeting the young girl, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Brooke? No more beating up boys okay? We all know girls rule already," She winks at her, and Brooke releases a small giggle.

"Girls always rule!"

"Hey, what about me?" Sam asks, feigning offence.

Brooke mulls this over, "You don't count. You're not a boy!"

He puffs his chest out jokingly, "I'm a man." She nods in response, and they say goodbye to Ms. Morrissey. He laughs and plays with Brooke as they walk away, but the unsettling feeling in his chest and the knowledge of the conversation coming won't leave him.

* * *

><p>"I had to hit him!" Brooke's indignant reply meets Quinn and Sam's beginning to the conversation. Neither of them wanted to reprimand her for what, honestly, they would have done themselves. Quinn's reaction was more visible than his, she even shed a few tears, but she is adamant they talk to Brooke about the futility of violence.<p>

They could only imagine the frustration the poor little four-year old girl would feel in that position. She has this awful life experience to carry around with her, and then people deny her the right to speak of it or at least freely reference it. Calling her a liar is not acceptable and, though irrational, he knows neither of them will ever be comfortable with that Ryder kid.

"No, B, you didn't have to hit him," Quinn's gentle voice soothes both of them, swooping over Brooke's in one go. "There's no need to resort to violence. You should have called over your teacher and told her what was happening instead. Always ask an adult or teacher, do not begin hitting."

"You know why?" Sam asks, and Brooke shrugs in annoyance. "Because then you won't get in _any _trouble."

Brooke laughs, and Quinn sends him a chiding glance. "_And _because the teacher can correct it responsibly." She hesitates, "Brooke, hitting Ryder wasn't going to make him believe you."

"I know," She cries, tears springing out of nowhere, "But I was so angry! It wasn't fair!"

Quinn brings her into a hug, holding the child closely and stroking her hair. "You're right, it wasn't. It wasn't at all."

The affirmation of Brooke's thoughts makes her cry harder, causing Sam to jump into action and join the hug. Together, they whisper words of comfort before joking and trying to make her laugh as hard as possible.

* * *

><p>His dream was an odd one, one of the rare ones that seem to feature everyone in his life. They were at a fairground, and in it, Quinn wasn't pregnant anymore. They were giggling like teenagers on a Ferris wheel, then sitting at a picnic with friends in the next moment. A montage of what his life was and what it wouldn't be – but even though Quinn wasn't pregnant, there was an acknowledgement in his mind that their child was at home. Safe and sound.<p>

What happened next, was some harrowing ironic twist. He was wrenched from his pleasant dream by a harsh slap to his shoulder, almost pushing him out of the bed.

"Sam! _Sam, _for gods sake, wake up!" She told him frantically, a panic in her voice that he didn't often hear. Quicker than he ever had, Sam jumped into sitting position, ready to listen to whatever she was saying.

His thoughts were muddled and confused, his dream and reality blending and fusing in his brain. Sam shook his head, eyes focused on Quinn, "What's going on, Q?"

"Sam—Sam, there's blood," her tone was tearful now. She was shaking, waking him up considerably. He leapt from the bed and immediately started picking up her things and helping her downstairs and into the car. Neither of them had changed, he had only thrown a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms on, she still in her oversized pyjamas.

Now, as they sat in the harsh and unguarded light of the hospital room, he could see the bloodstains on her legs. She hadn't spoken a word since they arrived, numbly allowing the doctors to survey and examine her without any protest or question. From that moment, he knew what the end would be. Because she knew.

It didn't make it any easier. The doctor returned, and he only had to take one glance at his face and then Quinn's to understand perfectly. Despite being so stoic minutes before, Quinn didn't even hear a word before sobs came hard and fast, wracking her fragile frame mercilessly with their angst.

"My _baby,"_ she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible.

He held her softly, trying to convey some measure of comfort, but he received nothing back. She didn't wrap her arms around him, didn't reply to his tender confessions of love, she didn't meet his calming gaze.

Truth be told, it would be a long time before she did any of that again.

* * *

><p>AN: Heeey, so sorry for a bit of a downer chapter. But there is so much good to be taken from this! For example, the progression in Sam's character: previously, he was watching Quinn comfort Brooke, but now he's able for so much more. His heart doesn't hurt as much, and that's seen in every interaction with Brooke.

Plus, a teeny bit of Quam progression. Also, you see the a glimpse more into their past.

Anyway, sorry for the delay. I hope you review, because it would really help me! Disclaimer: No ownio Friends or "Flaws" by Bastille.

Thank you for reading,

CN.


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